


Breathless in the Atmosphere

by spinyfruit



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Male Escort!Spain, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, artist!spain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-03-08 01:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3190613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinyfruit/pseuds/spinyfruit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Antonio only needed money for marble. He needed to make his art. And a chance encounter on the subway offers him a job as a male escort. It was just for the money. He could stop anytime he wanted to. Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Louise – Monaco
> 
> *Abel – Netherlands (not related to Belgium in this fic)
> 
> *Felicia – fem!Italy
> 
> *Sophia – fem!Austria
> 
> There isn't *exactly* rape/non-con, but I tagged it just in case. It was getting pretty dicey.

Antonio was lucky. That's what people had told him his entire life.

He was from a moderately small Spanish town overlooking the Mediterranean, which was famous for its beaches and tourism. His parents owned a small inn, and it did very well with American and European tourists who wanted to spend a summer swimming and getting a tan. They weren't wealthy, but they weren't poor either. It was a niche inn to go too. They had many interesting guests.

To keep him occupied, Antonio's parents gave him clay to play with; and he would sit somewhere in the lobby and sculpt who knows what for hours on end. He was an only child, and his parents couldn't afford to send him to daycare.

One day, an old man came to the inn. He was tall and tan, and spoke perfect Spanish; but he didn't seem like a local. He spotted Antonio sculpting in the corner and watched him work. Antonio sculpted birds mostly. There were many of them at the beaches.

The old man approached Antonio's parents, and told them their boy had a talent. He needed to be in art school. Of course, Antonio's parents had no money, but the old man said not to worry.

"I'll pay for everything. It's my gift to the art community."

He was sent to art school after art school: middle school, through high school, and college. He had a natural aptitude for all of the arts – some called him reminiscent of Picasso – but in the end, he always fell back on sculpting. Antonio felt as though he could see the art clearer that way. It was satisfying to build something from your hands and help it stand. Marble was the greatest of them all.

On one of his class fieldtrips, they took a boat to Italy, and toured the art museums. Antonio saw Bernini's  _Apollo and Daphne_  and fell head over heels. He wanted to create sculpture like that. He wanted to completely conquer marble and bend it to his will.

At twenty-four, he moved to New York City. His benefactor told him he should leave Europe and find his art.

At twenty-five, Antonio received one last letter from his benefactor. He included no money, and said:

"You need to start anew. Now's the time to strip away what you have been taught and create your own world in the arts."

But to create a marble sculpture…

…You need money for the marble.

Antonio tried jobs. He tried being a barista, a bartender, a waiter, a cashier, a grocer, even a lifeguard at a nearby indoor pool. But he grew bored. For a time, they were interesting, but after two weeks, he grew bored. It was a lackluster lifestyle. It didn't suit Antonio. He needed something more. He needed passion, and emotion. His art needed it too.

So for a month, Antonio was jobless. He had one large piece of marble that he was nurturing slowly, like a flower. Of course, he needed to sell work to make money, but Antonio couldn't rush his art. He cared too much for it. If his masterpiece required that he survive on ramen, water, and no heat in a New York City winter, so be it. His soul was more important. It hurt to not touch his piece and see it blossom.

It was when Antonio was down to his last three hundred dollars that he knew he had to find new work. He was on the subway to the art store when the thought occurred to him, and he stared mindlessly at the subway ceiling as he brainstormed jobs he hadn't tried yet.

"Excuse me," a feminine voice called to him.

Antonio blinked from his reverie and glanced to his left. A pretty woman was looking at him expectantly. She pointed to the ground.

"I dropped my pen and it rolled near your shoe. Can you pick it up?" she asked politely. Her glasses glinted under the florescent light and she was holding a notebook filled with numbers.

Antonio immediately smiled. "Of course," he said, and bent over to scoop the pen up. He handed it to her quickly. "Here you are. You have lovely eyes by the way."

The lady looked very pleased by the compliment, but her smile told Antonio she was accustomed to flattery. He didn't mind. He loved to flatter people.

"Thank you," she replied. "You have an interesting accent. Spanish, right? Where are you from?"

"A town near Valencia. It's very small, you probably wouldn't know it," he chuckled and brushed some of his hair away. It had been a while since he had the opportunity for pleasant conversation. He'd been working for days. "I've been in New York for about a year now."

The woman seemed quite interested in him. "It's a pity we haven't crossed paths before now. What do you do…" she trailed off and waited for a name.

"Antonio," he finished with a smile. "I'm an artist. Well, I'm hoping to become one, anyway. I'm trying to build up a collection."

"Really? Of what sort of art?"

"Sculpture. I love to sculpt marble. But it's very expensive, unfortunately."

"Yes, I know. I've seen quite a bit of it," she commented lightly. Her clothes were absolutely pristine, Antonio noticed. And all designer as well. She must be New York City elite. "You know," she started, and scribbled something on clean sheet of notebook paper. "If you want to make it big. This is the gallery you need to show in. It houses the best of the up-and-coming. Only the best." She gave Antonio the paper.

"Galleria dell'Atmosfera," he repeated. The name rang a faint bell. "Is that on—"

"Fifth Avenue? Yes."

Antonio's eyes stared at the name in faint wonder. "It must be very difficult to get into."

"Very much so."

Antonio kept staring at the name, and a slow grin spread across his lips. He felt the fire of a challenge burn in his chest. "I'm very good at sculpture though."

"That'll help," she said. And she flipped her notebook to a clean page. Her eyes shifted to Antonio again, and this time very sharply. "But you'll need money. And connections."

Antonio laughed, but he didn't sound discouraged. "I do need money. That's true. But I'm very friendly. I can make connections pretty well."

At that, the lady flashed a full smile. "I can believe that. You seem very sociable. I'm sure you were very popular in Spain."

Antonio chuckled, but didn't answer.

She started writing something down. "Tell me, Antonio," she started. "What would you say if I told you I could give you a job that pays very well?"

"How well?" Antonio asked.

"Very," she repeated. Her pen stopped and she moved to the next line. "You're in your twenties, right?"

"Yes, I'm twenty-fiv—"

"I thought so. That'll do just fine. Perfect actually. And you seem like quite the romancer, too. Clients will like that. Especially, if you can lay the accent on a little thicker." She tore the page from her notebook, folded it once and passed it to him. She looked him square in the eye, and Antonio swore he'd never seen such dark and calculating blue eyes. "My name's Louisa. If you're interesting in becoming a male escort, just call this number."

Antonio's eyes widened, and he had the sudden urge to laugh.

"I assure you, this is not a joke," she added swiftly, and her voice was serious like ice. "I run a respectable business. It's high in demand with the elite."

Antonio didn't know what to say. But he thought he should say something. "Um, I don't know if I would be very well suited to—"

"Nonsense, you're absolutely perfect," she interrupted with a small laugh. "You're exactly the type I look for. Charming, kind, sensitive, flirtatious…being a male escort isn't all about sexual favors you know. A lot of people want more of…the  _boyfriend experience_. This requires a little more tact. And I think you'd be very good at it."

Antonio felt his cheeks turn pink and he darted around the empty cart nervously. There was a couple and an old man on the other side – too far for any of them to overhear – but it was embarrassing nonetheless.

"Thank you," he replied awkwardly.

The train was coming to a halt, and Louise stood up on her four-inch heels. She tucked the notebook in her bag and slung it over her shoulder. "Don't thank me. I'm just trying to help out the art community." She offered Antonio a sly smile, and the bell dinged. The subway doors opened. "I'll be waiting for your call," she said.

And Louise strolled through the door. A family of four walked in and took her place.

Antonio stared at the paper.

_Upper East Side, Male Escort/Rent a Gentleman Service_

_For Sophisticated Clients Only_

_If interested, please call (xxx) xxx-xxxx_

_Ask for Louise_

He carried the paper around all day as he did his errands. He let the thought sink in. He let it settle.

After he arrived at his apartment, he realized he lost two hundred of his remaining three hundred dollars. Fifty of which, he already spent on sculpting supplies.

Antonio had fifty dollars and a folded piece of paper to his name. It kind of seemed like destiny at this point.

He walked a block to the nearest payphone and dialed the number.

 

~/~

 

"Toni, darling!"

Antonio grinned, and he enveloped Emma in a hug. She was light as a feather, always lathered with the perfume of lemons and rosewater.

"Happy birthday, Emma," he said and pecked her quick on the cheek. She blushed and flashed her dimples. Then Antonio reached within his inside jacket pocket and presented her with a small box. It was Tiffany blue.

She clapped her hands and grasped it. "Oh, you remembered! I can't believe you remember every year!" she exclaimed as she untied the ribbon. Her pale-green eyes flicked to Antonio, and a shy giggle escaped her lips. "Don't tell me you bought me another…oh, yes! You did! It's so cute! A little dove!"

Antonio laughed along with her, and picked the silver charm delicately between his fingers. "Would you like me to put it on for you?" he asked politely.

She nodded her head and presented him with her wrist. She always wore her favorite charm bracelet. Antonio had bought it for her birthday three years ago, and every year since then, he buys another charm.

After it was fastened, she giggled and wrapped her arms around Antonio again. Her voice was much quiet when she whispered near his ear. "Promise you'll spend the day with me. Ivan's in China again. I don't want to be alone."

Antonio petted her soft blonde hair with one hand and placed his other on her back. "Of course," he murmured, and he pressed his lips to her jawline. He started walking forward, and she stepped backwards with him. He flashed a seductive smile. "Today, I'm all yours. I'll do whatever you want."

Emma's eyes shined and she grasped the sides of Antonio's face. She wanted a kiss. She wanted to be held. And Antonio was good at it.

He kissed her breathless, then cuddled with her on the couch. She wanted to bake something, and he taught her how to make churros. She had box seats to a Broadway play she had planned on using with Ivan; now, she used them with Antonio.

They didn't even have sex.

Emma was one of his softer clients. Each of them required something different. Antonio had to write things down to remember.

The next day, he saw Elizaveta for lunch. They met at a fancy bistro on the fifty-fourth floor. She was wearing a knee-length, mint tea dress, and she looked remarkably uncomfortable. She was adjusting the straps for the fourth time as she tried to make conversation with a middle-aged couple next to her. Antonio strolled out of the elevator and adjusted his suit again.

As soon as Elizaveta spotted him, her eyes widened and she called across the entire room, "Oh, thank god! Finally! Antonio, you're ten minutes late!"

He laughed and skipped the last few steps to her side. He kissed her cheek. " _Lo siento_ ," he apologized quickly.

"You're always on Spanish time anyway," she dismissed with a mocking smile. Then she gestured to the middle-aged couple. "Mother, father, I'd like to introduce you to Antonio Carriedo. He's my  _boyfriend_."

Antonio glanced at her curiously, but was swift to smile accommodatingly anyway. "Nice to meet you," he said and shook their hands. "Eliza has told me so much about you."

Elizaveta slapped him hard on the back and she laughed a bit too loud. "Oh yes, yes. We've chatted about you guys quite a bit. But Antonio's a shy little bunny, so he's been afraid of meeting you."

"That's true," Antonio added quickly, and he rubbed his back.

Elizaveta's mother smiled. "It's a pleasure."

Her father nodded his head.

Once an awkward silence settled, Elizaveta clapped her hands and exclaimed, "Well, okay then! How about we get this party going! Waiter, do you want to show us to our table?"

"I have a nam—"

"I don't care! Just get us moving!" she yelled, her anxiety seeping through.

Antonio patted her shoulder and whispered, "Everything's all right. Don't worry."

Elizaveta took a deep breath and pressed her lips together. She forced another smile. "Come now! Let's get our table before they pass it away!"

Elizaveta was an unusual case for Antonio. They'd been meeting for two months now, all at awkwardly populous places. She only invited him places where she knew they'd be seen. Elizaveta Héderváry was a famous heiress. She wasn't world renown or anything, but she was famous among the New York society. It was vague where their money came from, but Antonio always guessed it stemmed from something illegal.

In any case, Elizaveta was unusual because she didn't require any romance whatsoever. She hired Antonio to pretend. She needed a fake male counterpart to get her parents off of her back, and she needed to be spotted by the media to make it believable.

"How long do we have to keep doing this?" Antonio whispered to Elizaveta when her parents were caught up in the wine selection.

She turned to him with a blank smile. "Until my parents are blind or dead," she replied back. "If they find out I'm a lesbian, they'll have a heart attack on the spot. I'm just trying to save their lives here."

Antonio glanced at her parents again. They appeared to be rather normal. "All right," he sighed. "If you're sure."

"Of course I am," she said. "Now kiss me already." And he did.

Yeah…

Elizaveta was a special case.

Antonio also had male clients on occasion. They rarely wanted the same things as his female clients. It was never as emotional as it was physical.

His least favorite client was someone named Abel. Antonio was fairly sure Abel didn't like him either. At least not personality-wise. The first night, Antonio tried to make pleasant conversation by hitting at all of the usual topics; he even complimented Abel a fair amount of times.

Abel didn't have any of it.

He didn't like small talk. He didn't like Antonio's easy-going attitude. He didn't like Antonio's flirtatiousness.

Antonio didn't like Abel's silence. He didn't like his seriousness. He didn't like his apartment. He didn't like his cleanliness.

The only thing they could agree on was the sex. It was always fast, rushed, aggressive, and it spared few words. Abel knew exactly what he wanted, and though Antonio never admitted it, he liked it when someone took control once in a while. Most of the time, he had to make the decisions.

The ending was always pretty terrible though. It went one of two ways. Either Abel came, released Antonio and fell onto the bed (or couch, or etc.), and Antonio would simply get dressed and walk out. Or, Abel would finish and release Antonio, and one of them would say something careless, they'd yell, get into an argument, and they'd go another round.

Either way, Antonio walked home really annoyed and sexually satisfied.

A few months ago, Antonio had a short-term client, which he still remembered. He was one of his favorite male clients. He was very American in every respect, but there was also something endearing about him.

Alfred had just gotten into a bad breakup; he wanted Antonio to comfort him so he wouldn't have to be alone. They ended up going to quite a few parties. Alfred was an openly gay baseball player, and quite the social butterfly in the night scene. He was usually very good at going to things like this, he said, but since the breakup, he'd been very depressed.

Antonio had to be very gentle with Alfred. But he liked him. They stopped seeing each other when Alfred's ex-boyfriend heard of their ongoing rendezvous, and flew all the way from London to yell at him. He hasn't left since though.

Aside from the short-term flings, Antonio's regular clients for the last few months, and in some case years, have been Emma, Elizaveta, Abel, and on occasion, Louise.

"You've gotten very good at this job very fast," Louise would say. But she would also say it unsurprisingly, and add, "I always knew you would."

Antonio laughed at that, but he realized early on that Louise was right. He was very good at this sort of job. And he liked it. He liked to comfort people, compliment them, kiss them, and make love to them. He liked to make people feel better. He liked to make people  _feel_. And Antonio believed that sexuality and sensuality were facets to his life, and his art.

Like most artists, Antonio felt a general dissatisfaction with the world. It was something about the reality of things. It made him sad, melancholy, disheartened, and generally quiet. Art and love were the only elements of magic to life. They were the only things worth living for, worth working and struggling for. This must have been the realization Antonio's benefactor wanted him to make, because since it, Antonio was able to breathe life into his art. He sculpted lovers, listless souls, and dreamers. He sculpted emotion.

And with his new income, he sculpted quite a lot of marble in the past three years. He only started submitting it this past year however, and his pieces were accepted in some of the smaller contemporary galleries. Not the one he dreamt of though.

A few of his female clients, like Emma and Elizaveta, took Antonio to galas held at the famous Galleria dell'Atmosfera, and each time he left starstruck and desperate. It was an elegant, sophisticated place. Antonio had never visited a place quite like it.

The Galleria was modern, yet it held a venerable air. It was three stories high with walls all white, and columns of mainly Etruscan order. The staircases were simple, and sleek, and said so much in their purity. All of the art that hung there was magnificent, and curated in such a way that one would have always believed a post-modern multi-media feminist painting stood by a life-size, bronze sculpture of a tiger and its cubs.

They had one of everything, and like Louise said, they only had the best.

Antonio wanted to be included so desperately. He prayed that luck was still on his side.

 

~/~

 

Lovino was staring out the car window. He felt very far away. He wanted to stay in the feeling.

But the music of New York would always bring him back. The noises of traffic, the subtle hum of rain, the tapping on the iPhone by his sister…there was never any serenity.

"Lovi," Felicia called.

He hummed in acknowledgment, but couldn't be bothered to deter his gaze. He was fascinated with the passersby, and he wondered why they all seemed so foreign and content.

"We're near the last gallery of the day. Blue Spiral, remember?"

He hummed again.

"…Are you okay? Are you tired?"

Lovino turned away from the window and sat forward. "Yeah, a bit," he admitted.

"Do you feel up to visiting this place? We don't have to if you don't want to," Felicia offered.

Lovino stared at his hands, and a voice in his head told him he had to keep going. "I'm fine," he said. "It's just one more. Then we can go home."

Felicia pursed her lips and debated believing her brother. But he didn't appear sick or anything. Hopefully, it wouldn't take long.

"We're here," the driver announced.

Felicia tucked the phone in her coat pocket and opened her door. "Great! We'll see you in an hour Giovanni!"

Lovino only nodded at him, and followed Felicia out the right door. He stood on the street and buttoned his gray suit. Then slowly, he followed his sister indoors.

"Ve~ I forgot how cute this place was! It's been a while since I've been here," Felicia cooed and waved to the lady, or was it man, at the front desk. "Feliks!  _Ciao_! Sorry, we're here sort of late. Traffic held us up."

"Oh, it's no problem," he said with a wave of his hand. "The traffic's totally bad right now, I understand."

Lovino closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn't have the patience for this, but he was trying.

Felicia noticed her brother's irritation however, and quickly sped up the process. "Well, we're on a bit of a time crunch. Can you go ahead and show us the pieces you were talking about?"

"Of course. Like right this way," he assured them and strolled around the front desk and towards the back of the space. He was wearing a dress over pants, but that wasn't the strangest thing in New York.

Feli made sure to make pleasant talk with Feliks, while Lovino stood numbly in the back.

"So this is the painting I was telling you about. It's by that one guy,  _you know_ , and it's gorgeous, right? And the colors, I—"

"No," Lovino muttered, and he kept walking.

Feliks stared after him a bit wide-eyed and nervous, but Felicia patted his shoulder. "Ve~ I'm sorry, but Lovi's looking for something very particular. He can be kind of blunt about these things."

They kept waking together, and Feliks tried again with a series of minimalist canvases. "These were done by my friend in Romania. They're like totally—"

"No," Lovino said, and he turned on his heel.

Feliks showed him a statuette of a ballerina.

"No."

An installation of a moose skeleton.

"No."

A tapestry that hung from the ceiling like a hammock.

"No."

Eventually, Feliks was so disheartened he kept his opinions to himself, and trailed side by side with Feli as Lovino led the way. He stopped at each piece, strolled around its perimeter, pressed his lips together and moved on.

"He's very particular," Felicia kept insisting with nervous laughs. "We try to have as many unique pieces as possible, so he's looking for something that'll complete the collection."

And it felt as though they walked forever. It wasn't even a large gallery. But touring and examining art was tiring, and when all galleries were designed as blank voids, it had a way of altering the perspective. But there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

Lovino stopped in front of a piece. And for the first time that day, his eyes shifted in deep emotion. The piece touched his soul.

It was a life-size marble piece, which was rare in of itself nowadays—at least in the particular area. But although it was marble, it was soft, delicate, and touchable. It was a boy bent over the side of a pool, or perhaps a bank, and his feet lost in the water. It was simple, and hushed, yet expertly done. The expression of the boy was carved by no amateur; this person knew how to release the turmoil from the inside.

It was called  _Melancholy_ , by Antonio Carriedo.

"Oh, wow," Felicia commented, and she tilted her head. "This is a very pretty one, no?"

Feliks was a bit jumpy, but he tried to act enthusiastic. "Yeah, we got it last week. This guy's kind of new, but he's been popping up in a few places. He's like Spanish or something."

"Is that so?" Feli replied, and she turned her attention to Lovino. "What do you think?" she asked tentatively.

His eyes flitted over the piece one last time before darting to her and to the floor. "I like it," he said, and stuck a hand in his pant pocket before turning on his heel. "We're getting it."

Felicia clapped her hands. "Yay! Fratello finally decided!" she exclaimed and looked to Feliks. "This is okay, right?"

"W-well," he stammered. "it like, totally is, but…it was sold to someone else already."

"We'll triple the offer," Lovino said over his shoulder. He was still walking away.

Feliks gaped after him, and stared at Feli for an explanation.

She smiled and explained, "He just really wants it. We'll be sure to leave a big tip, okay?" She winked at him and scurried after her brother.

 

~/~

 

Lovino spent three hours ordering people to set up the piece and adjust the lighting properly. He was only energetic when he wanted to be, and he wanted his art done right.

Looking at the piece eased his nerves and lifted his heart at the same time. He felt balanced, and he felt real.

Sometimes he didn't feel that way at all.

"When do you want to hold the gala?" Felicia asked. She was on her iPad now, and flipping through various emails.

Lovino kept gazing at the piece. "This weekend."

"Oh?" Felicia glanced up. She was a bit surprised, but noticing how enraptured her brother was with the sculpture made her happy. She smiled and opened up the calendar. "Should I invite all of the usual people?"

"That's fine," Lovino said.

"How about the artist? Him too?"

Lovino didn't respond right away. His eyes travelled up the spine of the boy and to the face again. "I don't like meeting the artists."

"But it's only proper that we invite him, no?"

"I know," Lovino sighed, and he closed his eyes in resignation. He turned his back to the piece and looked at Feli. "Fine. Invite him."

Felicia smiled and tapped away at her iPad.

Lovino walked out of the room and towards the gallery's exit. He knew the illusion would shatter soon. It was his fault anyway, because it was the same each time.

He romanticized art.

And he wasn't supposed to do that.

 

~/~

 

Antonio was with Elizaveta again. They were at a café this time and waiting for some paparazzi to show up.

"What will you have?" Eliza asked as she looked over the menu. This was a  _very_  nice café.

Antonio looked down and scrolled through the list. "Um, a chai tea latte is fine. Thank you," he smiled at the waiter and handed him the menu.

"And I'll have a peppermint mocha," Elizaveta decided and tossed the menu into the waiter's arms. "Thanks," she added as he walked away. She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Sorry to drag you out again. I know you have art and shit to do."

"It's no problem," Antonio laughed. "You're paying me anyway."

Elizaveta waved her hand dismissively. "Money's nothing. I just feel bad wasting your time. I know I'm wasting mine." She pursed her lips and stared at her reflection in the window. "So I met this girl the other day…"

"Oh? Do tell." Antonio's eyes sparkled.

Unexpectedly, Elizaveta started laughing and she tried to hide her smile. "Yeah, I was going out with a friend of mine—his name's Gilbert. I'll introduce you sometime. Anyway, we were going out, and this girl— _oh my god_. This girl looked like she walked straight out of a 1940s movie. It was hilarious. She looked so out of place."

"What's her name?" Antonio asked curiously. He was getting to know a good bit about the society girls of New York now.

Elizaveta shook her head. "Sophia, but you wouldn't know her. She's from Austria. She moved here for music, I believe." Elizaveta smiled slightly. "Anyway,  _as I was saying_ …Gilbert saw this girl loitering near the bar, and man, she looked so confused. Also kind of angry. It was adorable."

"Hm, sounds like it," Antonio said.

"But listen to this—Gilbert ended up hitting on her, and Sophia looked like she was approached by an ogre. Her eyes," Elizaveta laughed. "I swear she was about to spit in Gilbert's face. But I swooped in and dragged him away, and Sophia bolted out of the bar."

The waiter returned with their drinks. "Here's your mocha, and your latte," he announced, and walked away.

Elizaveta took a sip of her drink. "But yeah, that was Wednesday night. I think I might try to track this girl down. She was interesting."

"Don't scare her," Antonio warned gently, and he blew on his latte.

"Oh, please," Elizaveta chuckled. "I'm incredibly charming when I want to be. I can be the belle of the ball." Elizaveta tightened her unruly ponytail and swiped some stray bangs from her face. She wasn't helping her point. "Man, they sure are taking their time today. Do you think they can't recognize me or something? Should I have changed?"

Antonio bit his lip and tried not to smile. "Well, you are wearing sweatpants, a stained hoodie, and running shoes," he commented. "Of course, you're still as lovely as ev—"

"Save it," she interrupted. "I don't pay you for compliments. I know how I look. I was taking one of Gilbert's stupid fitness classes again. The asshole keeps making me come."

"Why is that?"

"I think he might be lonely. His roommate is still in Milan," she replied simply without explaining who the roommate was. "I really should introduce you two. Remind me about that later."

Antonio nodded and he subtly checked his phone. As a general rule, he tried not to check his phone when he was with one of his clients, but Elizaveta was a special case. She wasn't as interested in the romance or the attention, so Antonio had more leeway.

He saw that he had three missed calls and two new voicemails. He pressed his phone to his ear and listened to the first one.

_"Hey there, Toni. So this is Feliks. I had a really weird day the other day. Like you totally wouldn't believe…"_

"So what about you, you little streetwalker? Sleep with anyone interesting lately?" Elizaveta asked tiredly. She was getting bored of waiting, but gossip always interested her.

_"…So yeah. But these guys will probably call you soon about your piece. They paid you like three times as much. I think they might be loaded."_

Antonio alternated his attention from the voicemail to her. A mischievous spark lit in his eyes. "Of course," he purred mysteriously, and focused on the next voicemail.

_"Ciao Antonio! This is Felicia Vargas. I am one of the owners and curators of the Galleria dell'Atmosfera…"_

"Oh! Who? Who? Do I know her? Or him?" Elizaveta questioned quickly. Antonio ignored her, and she persisted, "Aw, come on Toni! At least let me live through your life! I have to pretend to be a princess here."

_"We bought one of your pieces from the Blue Spiral Gallery downtown the other day. It's quite stunning. We have already taken the liberty of placing it in our gallery. Of course, if this disagrees with you, let us know. But if not…please come to our gala this weekend. We'd love to meet you. You can call me back on this number or email me at…"_

Antonio's eyes widened and he stared openly at Eliza.

She gaped. "Oh my god. It was that handsome soccer player that passed through the town last week, wasn't it?" Elizaveta demanded, her eyes glinting.

"What? No, no…" Antonio stopped and he smiled a bit awkwardly. "Oh, well. Yes, actually. But that's not—I just got a phone call from the gallery."

"Which gallery?"

" _The gallery_ ," Antonio affirmed, and his smile was ecstatic.

After a pause, recognition lit Elizaveta's eyes and she exclaimed, "No shit! That's amazing! That's one of the best places to show in New York!"

"I know," Antonio gushed and he felt his face grow hot in excitement. "I know. Oh  _dios,_ I know _."_

"Hm, do you mind if I tag along. Maybe we can actually get photographed there," Elizaveta suggested slyly.

Antonio quickly scrolled through his mental list of dates and names. He didn't have anyone else promised, though galas were the sort of thing that Emma enjoys going to. But her husband was back now. "Sure," he said. "It might be nice to have someone in the know."

Elizaveta smirked. "I feel like we're having a bit of a  _Pretty Woman_  moment here. Should I take you shopping around town and find you a nice suit?"

Antonio flashed a grin. "That sounds fantastic."

 

~/~

 

There was something about the night. Perhaps it was the abyss of the night sky, or the hypnotic lights of the cars.

It was like a siren call: it beckoned Lovino. How could he not ignore the darkness and the colorful lights? It disoriented him, it confused him, it drew him  _in_.

He didn't buckle his seatbelt, and his foot pressed harder at every turn.

Cones.

Railing.

Cliff.

Car.

Pole.

So many options to choose from. He wanted to feel it. He wanted to feel  _something_  before it was over.

 

~/~

 

The night had long since passed. It was three days later. The hours kept turning.

Lovino was still lying in bed, and was staring blankly at his clock. He knew Felicia would walk in any moment now.

There was a knock on the door.

_Right on time._

"Yes?" he called, and turned over on his back. There was still no reply. "Just get in here, Feli."

Slowly, the door opened and Feli's shy and curious face peaked through. She immediately smiled at her brother. " _Ciao_ , Lovi. How are you feeling? Any better?"

His head ached from hitting the airbag. His arm hurt from the shards of the windshield that grazed through his flesh. And the rest of his body just hurt from everything else.

"A bit better," he mumbled and sat up. He was careful about the stiches in his right bicep. "What's the itinerary?" he asked quietly. If he didn't ask, he knew Feli would make him sit there.

"Um," Feli paused as she glanced at her brother's wounds.

"Just tell me," Lovino insisted. "It's a party, not a marathon. I can handle that."

Feli gnawed at her lip worriedly. "Well," she began. "If you're sure…you can always leave early if you don't feel well."

"Yeah, yeah," he yawned.

Feli looked at her iPad. "All right, so it's 4:34 now. The party begins at seven, the talk is at nine, among all of that is greeting the guests, the artists, the donors, the dealers…"

"Uhuh." Lovino rubbed his temple.

"Oh! We have to remember to show the new artist around. We'll have him say a few words about his piece as well."

"Have you met him already?" Lovino asked offhandedly.

Feli's eyes glittered and she giggled to herself. " _Si_ , I have. He's the sweetest. He's so nice. And very familiar. We might've seen him before."

"Right. Well, we'll probably have to make sure he's acquainted with everyone. You better take the reigns with that. No doubt he's as incoherent as the rest of them."

Feli giggled again. "Actually, I don't think that will be a problem. He's pretty sociable."

Lovino rolled his eyes and rolled out of bed. "I'm not taking about being verbose. I'm talking about having tact. We don't need another incident." Lovino frowned at the floor-length window, and watched New York pass him by.

"Ve~ I know, but that won't be a problem either," Feli laughed.

Lovino peered over his shoulder, mildly interested. "What do you mean?"

"Hm, I don't know how to put it, but there's something about him that's very suave," Feli said dreamily. "He kind of reminds me of a prince. Or a celebrity."

"Stop romanticizing him," Lovino ordered and turned back to the window. "I'm sure his good impression will fade the longer you get to know him."

Felicia hummed to herself and tapped at her iPad. "He's so cute though. How could I not like him?"

"Don't you have a fiancé?" Lovino remarked snidely. Not that he liked the German, but he knew artists were always worse.

"Of course, of course! No one's as cute as Luddy," Feli exclaimed. She giggled, and added subtly, "But this guy's pretty close."

Lovino sighed, and his breath fogged a spot on the window.

 

~/~

 

It was a grand reception. The gallery was glittering, and the guests appeared on the floor like characters from a fairy-tale. It was very well-to-do. Formal attire wasn't just required, it was expected.

At around eight, Lovino strolled into the gallery. He exited from the elevator only the staff used. It ran up to the offices on the floor above.

He wore one of his best suits: it was black and tailored, and he didn't even appear injured anymore. The bandage on his hand was visible, but he tucked it into his pocket and made no fuss. He usually had a habit of brushing his hair away from his face when he was nervous, but he'd just have to do it with his left hand this time.

Upon entering the crowd, Lovino graced people with a smile. It was polite and soft, and almost genuine. He liked some of the people there. It was his crowd after all.

"Lovino," a pretty voice called.

He recognized it at once, and turned around. "Michelle," he smiled. "How are you?"

Michelle was a friend in the art industry. She was a well-renown art critique. "Good! I haven't seen you in so long. Where've you been hiding?" she teased and brushed her hand over Lovino's arm.

 _That was a surprising gesture,_  Lovino thought. "I've been rather busy. I did some light traveling through Europe last month."

"Oh, of course," Michelle laughed, and she fiddled with her necklace. "Did you find some new pieces?"

Lovino caught someone staring at him from the corner of his eye. It wasn't uncommon. He wondered if it was Feli again, so without thinking he looked over his shoulder.

Lovino didn't expect to see someone he didn't know, and that sent a jolt of caution up his spine and sharpened his eyes.

The man was tall, tan, with dark, curly hair, and bright, green eyes Lovino caught from across the room. Admittedly, he was well dressed and his suit was tasteful. The man was even handsome, but Lovino didn't like his face anyway. Or his stance. Or his  _aura_.

What was it? There was something off-putting about him.

He was watching Lovino like a cat, and his gaze flit over him without a trace of deference. When he caught Lovino's glare, his lips spread in a salacious smile.

Lovino didn't just dislike him. Now he hated him too.

"Lovino?" Michelle called, and she touched Lovino's arm again. Right over the stitches too.

He winced, but pressed his lips together and managed a swift recovery. "I'm sorry," he said, and he forced another smile. "I was a bit distracted. What were you saying?"

Michelle's gaze flitted back and forth for a while, but soon, she settled in a comfortable conversation. They talked about Austria, the Belvedere, and Klimt. It was a well-rehearsed conversation, Lovino must have had it a hundred times.

When he finally managed to escape, Lovino rushed to the wine bar. He asked for a glass of the Sangiovese, and sipped it gratefully. Alcohol, sweet alcohol. He lingered near the table on purpose, and as soon as he drained his glass he asked for another. Wine tasted better with each glass.

"Oh, Lovi! There you are!" Feli called.

Lovino had a well-practiced method of holding his wine glass in such a way that no matter the angle in which his sister tackled him, he never spilled a drop.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," Feli rambled. "Almost everyone is here, but you still haven't talked to the artist yet."

Lovino drank again. He tried to push the alcohol back as quick as possible. He needed a third glass before he was going to follow through with this. "Hold on," he muttered and drank the last of it. He handed it to the waiter and it was refilled. "Where is he?" Lovino asked, and he grasped the full glass.

"Which glass of wine are you on?" Felicia asked curiously.

"Third," he responded automatically. "Where is he? I want to get this over with."

Felicia shook her head, and her ponytail swung with her. "He's on the second floor. Follow me."

The stroll up the steps always took longer than it should. There were too many people they knew, and they always had to be pleasant. Felicia was more comfortable with it, but Lovino managed fine when he was buzzed.

"Antonio," Felicia called, and she skipped a few steps ahead.

Lovino lagged behind and nursed his drink. His lips left the cup when he noticed which man Felicia approached. It was  _him_.

Felicia touched the man's shoulder and he turned around with a bright smile. He hugged her confidently, and when they parted, he touched her hair and said something that made her blush.

Lovino was absolutely seething, but he walked up to them anyway.

Feli glanced at him and waved her hand. "Come here, Lovi," she called. "This is the artist. Antonio Carriedo."

Antonio turned around, and his lashes fluttered when he spotted Lovino in front of him. His smile quirked in amusement and he extended his hand. "It's nice to finally meet you."

Lovino gave a cursory glance at his hand and sipped his wine again. "You know my sister's engaged, right?"

"Lovi!"

Antonio paused, but he didn't stop smiling. His eyes just shifted into a more curious expression. "I didn't. But I'll keep that in mind," he said smoothly.

A woman next to him suddenly had her arm around Antonio's shoulders. "Don't worry, he's with me. I'll keep an eye on him," she exclaimed and she laughed not too reassuringly.

Lovino pursed his lips and tucked his arm under his elbow. He drank again. "So you made the marble sculpture?"

"I did," Antonio affirmed, and he slipped out of the woman's grasp.

Lovino stared at the floor and he recalled the piece. "It's very good," he said lightly.

Antonio brightened at the compliment to a radiance he hadn't been before. "Thank you," he replied. A moment later, he added with a little less finesse, "Actually, it's been my dream to show here. It's what I've wanted for ages."

Lovino's eyes flew over Antonio's figure disapprovingly. "You don't look like the starving artist type to me."

Antonio's eyes gleamed a dark emerald. "Don't worry, I'm absolutely ravenous."

The girl next to him chimed in and added, "And I can attest to that!"

Lovino composed himself and tried again. "I'm sorry. Are you his girlfriend?"

"Ve~ Lovi, that's Eliza. We've met her before," Feli interrupted.

Oh, the unruly, light brown hair should have been a tip-off. "Oh, I didn't recognize you," Lovino apologized, and he smiled teasingly. The alcohol was definitely working. "So you have a taste for struggling artists now, is that it?"

"Precisely," Eliza grinned and she pinched Antonio's cheek playfully. "Once I'm done with him, I'll probably move onto some musician. Perhaps a pianist."

Antonio and Elizaveta laughed as though they shared an inside joke.

Lovino looked away, already bored again. He fixed his hair habitually.

"What happened to your hand?" Antonio asked.

Lovino stopped moving and he dropped his hand in front of him. He'd forgotten about the bandage. "Nothing," he dismissed. "I was in a car accident a few days ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

This for some reason, Lovino found amusing. He couldn't stop his laugh, and he flashed his eyes to Antonio. "Why are you apologizing? It was only a Mercedes."

Antonio raised an eyebrow. "Well, in that case thank goodness."

Lovino pursed his lips and muttered "idiot" under his breath.

"Ah, you know," Antonio called his attention again. He had a baited smile. "I was telling Felicia earlier that you have the most handsome suit. You stand apart from everyone else."

Lovino just stared at him. "Well, aren't you a smooth talker? How many people have you banged this week with lines like that?" Yes, the alcohol was  _definitely_  working.

"Lovino, I don't think that's a very appropriate ques—"

But Antonio didn't even flinch. "Ten."

"Ten?" Lovino repeated, and Antonio nodded his head. Lovino let out a low whistle and muttered, "Slut."

"Hm, I prefer the term escort," Antonio replied, not missing a beat. He gave Lovino his most scandalous smile.

Elizaveta and Felicia exchanged glances, but Lovino and Antonio just stared at each other.

Finally, Lovino rolled his eyes and broke the silence. "Do I look like I care?" he asked sarcastically, and sucked the last drop of wine from the glass. He was bored again. "Well, I'm going back for wine." Lovino turned around, but a hand caught his shoulder.

"I'm giving a talk on my piece soon. I thought you might like to hear it," Antonio offered, his voice full of charm.

Lovino looked at him, but his blood didn't burn anymore. A familiar wistfulness washed over his heart, and he felt distant. "Not really," he said. "That would just ruin it for me." And he left Antonio's touch.

The night seeped through the glass of the gallery, and it shadowed over Lovino's heart.

There was still something about it.

 

~/~

 

"This is him, gentleman. My lover, my boyfriend, my sweetheart…the one and only Antonio—"

" _Mon dieu_ , I can't believe it!" Francis gushed and he completely ignored Antonio's extended hand and enveloped him in a hug. He pulled away and gazed at Antonio with glittering and ecstatic blue eyes. "I've never met a man of the night before. This is so exciting!"

"What? You've really never met one?" Gilbert asked as he gave Antonio a courteous pat on the shoulder. "My name's Gilbert by the way. I was Eliza's former skirt."

"Nice to meet you," Antonio laughed.

Francis was still looking at Antonio as if he were a foreign creature. "I know I must come across as the experienced Frenchman to you, but my life rarely leaves time to explore the red light district."

"You're a runway model. You're not a jet pilot," Gilbert remarked.

Francis smiled demurely. "Still though. There was never enough time, and rarely the right occasion."

"So Toni – I'm just going to call you that – is like… _night walking_  what you do for a living then?" Gilbert asked awkwardly, he didn't seem embarrassed by the question so much as his phrasing.

Antonio chuckled and scratched his neck. "Ah, well. It's how I make most of my money for now. I'm actually trying to be an artist."

"Is that so?" Francis asked.

"He already is an artist. His work is really good," Elizaveta exclaimed enthusiastically, and she ruffled Antonio's hair. "He finally got promoted too. The Galleria just bought one of his pieces."

"Oh, how wonderful! I'll have to go see it one of these days," Francis gushed. "I love going to the Galleria."

"That's the place where Luddy's fiancé works, isn't it?" Gilbert asked Elizaveta, and she just sighed.

"You're a terrible brother, Gilbert."

"I have shit to do! I can't keep track of his life."

"He's  _engaged_  to her."

"They're not married yet."

Francis wrapped an arm around Antonio's shoulders. "So  _mon cher_ ," he said mischievously. "What do you think about joining us for a night out one of these days. We promise we won't pay you for anything that happens."

Antonio thought the two of them were absolutely ridiculous. He couldn't not say yes.

It was a long time since his night wasn't about work.

 

~/~

 

Felicia escorted Lovino to the hospital. He had his stitches removed.

Lovino felt as though he left the hospital with a larger wound than when he came in. He was missing something now. The crash kept him docile for a while, but now the change returned.

His picture shattered and scattered across his eyes. The color faded away. He couldn't make anything out anymore. It was one of those times were he couldn't breathe, blink, or hear…

He could only  _feel._

Yesterday didn't exist. Tomorrow didn't either. It was just now.

_Now._

And Lovino didn't have time to contemplate the why.

He just had to think  _how._

 

~/~

 

Antonio had a new client. And he wasn't so sure what to make of him.

He was tall, very tan, with an accent Antonio couldn't pin down. After some conversation over dinner, the man said he was originally from Turkey. He moved to New York for his business. Something to do with architecture or construction.

After dinner, things expectedly moved to the bedroom. Antonio was very sweet, very loving—he could tell this sort of man wanted to take control. He thought this might be another Abel situation.

Somehow, it was much worse. It wasn't so much about control as it was about dominance. Antonio wasn't two feet in the door before he was pinned to a wall, and forced into a smothering kiss. His clothes were stripped in seconds and he was thrown on the bed. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what his client wanted him to do. Antonio's job was to make the man feel good, and it appeared as though all the man wanted was to take Antonio as forcefully as possible.

Within an hour he was completely ravished. He was breathless, panting, sweaty, dirty, and with hickeys and bite-marks that trailed from his chest to his neck. Antonio was exhausted.

Afterwards, the man was very cordial. He kissed Antonio's cheek and left an exorbitant tip.

But Antonio was still reeling from the slap across the face.

 

~/~

 

Lovino fell asleep too late and woke up too early. It was tradition.

And when he awoke, he found the discarded bottle of pills from the night before. This was becoming a new tradition.

How many had he taken? It was only twenty, right? Or was it twenty-five? He remembered measuring a handful and swallowing them down with a glass of champagne. Then he saw images of Feli and his grandfather, and he saw the newspaper titles that would doom the Galleria. He would ruin everything. He would destroy everything with a moment of weakness.

And somehow amidst the panic and tears he grew tired. Part of him was terrified that he was dying. And part of him was disappointed that he woke up.

At least there was a throb in his head. The pain in his stomach would come later.

Of course, he went through the motions of a usual weekday. Shower, dress, coffee and no breakfast, then a ride down the elevator to the gallery. It just opened now, and that was the best time. There would be close to no one.

Lovino strolled out of the elevator and crossed the second floor to the room on the left side. Artwork soothed him. It spoke to him when no one else's words would reach him.

His eyes brightened at the sight of his newest piece. The little boy on the riverbank.

But Lovino wasn't alone.

Antonio was there too. He was sitting down beside his sculpture, wearing a rumpled suit, no tie, and with hair a bit too messy for nine in the morning. He was different than when Lovino saw him last.

He looked raw.

Lovino's footsteps echoed nearer, and it caught Antonio's attention.

"Oh," he smiled, and his green eyes crinkled warmly. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to find you here."

"I should say the same thing," Lovino replied coolly. There was a faint pulse in the back of his head, but he was distracted by Antonio's face. It was flushed, but a side of it looked red and kind of irritated. Like he was slapped.

Lovino's eyes wandered to skin of his neck and noticed the hickeys too. Was there even a bite-mark?

He pressed his lips together and crossed his arms in front of the sculpture. "If you keep sitting like that you'll wrinkle your suit."

Antonio's lips turned up in a small smile. "It's already ruined."

"I noticed."

Antonio's gaze lingered on Lovino. There was the same awareness Lovino caught the night of the gala. He'd seen it before. Many times. Artists laid their hearts bare for the world, and among the pain and suffering, they learned life's secrets.

When Lovino was younger he thought there was something magical about them.

"I feel a bit disillusioned right now," Antonio said.

Lovino's eyes unwittingly flitted over the marks on his face and neck. He wondered how far they went. "Bad night at work?" Somehow his joke came out more as concern than he would've liked.

Antonio laughed anyway, and his fingers touched his neck. "You could say that," he murmured. He looked at his sculpture again. "I feel as though my perspective has just been altered. I've had bad sexual experiences before—that's pretty normal. But I thought…even if the motions were bad, if there was still emotion, and passion, and desire…I never thought I could...hate it."

Lovino eyed him carefully, and he slowly put the pieces together. With as much sensitivity he could muster, Lovino asked, "Were you raped or something?"

Antonio's smile was a bit lopsided when he replied, "It kind of felt like that." It was a deafening thing to say, so a second later, he added jokingly, "But at least I got paid." His laugh echoed against the empty walls.

"That's not really funny," Lovino scolded, and he twisted his fingers in the fabric of his jacket.

Antonio chuckled a bit softer. "I know," he admitted, and his sigh rocked his body. His gaze lazily found its way to Lovino though. He still looked at him with no deference at all. Then softly, he said, "But it looks like I'm not the only one who had a bad night."

_Magic._

Lovino frowned and dropped his hands to his sides. "What do you mean?"

Antonio smiled simply, before he explained, "Your eyes are very vulnerable. They weren't like that at the gala."

_It had to be._

"…You've been crying," Antonio said.

Lovino couldn't even deny it. The pulse in his head and the ache in his side were reminders of that.

"Shut up," he replied dully. Seconds flew by and he gnawed at his lip in indecision, then slowly he ran a hand over the ghost of where his stitches used to be. He didn't want Antonio loitering here all day. And no one should see him in that condition. "I'll go call the car around," he muttered hurriedly, and turned on his heel.

Antonio's voice reached him when all he wanted was his art.

"Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have been working on anything else (trust me, I know), but I simply couldn't get this story out of my head. It just had to be written. The idea was just too dear to me.
> 
> There will be one, maybe two chapters after this. I promise it won't be long.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. The Stars

"Antonio," she moaned. Her fingers grasped the sheets and twisted in the silk.

Antonio slowed his pace and grazed his lips over her collarbone. He was languid, fluid, and held her delicately but with passionate intent. When she moaned his name again, his lips curled in a satisfied smile, and he quickened his pace. He watched her writhe, gasp, and sigh, and when he finished her expression was burned into his memory, and he stole her breath with a kiss.

Sex didn't stop after climaxing though. To Antonio, the afterglow was just as important. People were softer afterwards. They were sated, open, and all of their senses were heightened.

Antonio couldn't draw his clients at moments like this—that would just be impolite. So he let his eyes and ears drink in the vision of a person on the orgasmic descent.

It was like watching a butterfly return to its cocoon.

 

~/~

 

Midday escapades weren't really unheard of. At this point, nothing was unheard of in Antonio's profession.

And he rather liked the outlook it set for the rest of his day. He felt as though his mind and body were much more relaxed, and he strolled to the next destination with pleasant sensations still buzzing in his veins.

He arrived at the café—it was becoming the usual café now. He greeted the same waiter with a polite smile, and was shown the way to the table.

Elizaveta was already sitting down, wearing a black leather jacket, studded earrings, and her hair in a ponytail…again. She was sipping delicately at the tea in front of her though, and once again, Antonio was struck by the odd duality of her habits.

"Hello, Eliza," he greeted happily, and slid in the seat across from her. "You look as beautiful as ever."

Her lips split in an unwilling smile, and her eyes betrayed her amusement. "I don't pay you for compliments. I keep telling you that," she replied, and trailer her gaze all over his features. "But perhaps I should be complimenting you. Fresh from the afterglow, are you?" she mocked and glanced down at her silver wristwatch. "And at one in the afternoon. Must be nice to be you, hm?"

Antonio laughed lightly, but his face showed no traces of embarrassment. If anything, something akin to pride glittered in his eyes. "So what's the job this week? Shall I take you for a night out on the town? Or should we just elope to the Hamptons for the weekend?"

"Neither, but keep that elopement idea just in case, because it might come in handy later," Elizaveta said and she squeezed some lemon into her tea.

Antonio grinned crookedly. "You can't be serious about marrying me, can you?"

"Why not? It could be fun. We could elope, have a shotgun wedding, and it'll hit the tabloids with a boom."

Antonio just stared at her. "You  _can't_  be serious."

Elizaveta rolled her eyes and took a sip of her tea.

"Don't you think this is getting a bit ridiculous?"

"No," she replied stubbornly, and pursed her lips.

"Well, I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to marry my clients. So that'll be a minor issue. Not to mention, by that point, they'll probably realize I moonlight as an escort," Antonio pointed out as he waved down the waiter. "A chai tea latte, please," he told him.

Elizaveta just shook her head dismissively. "Please. You can quit that job any time you want and you know it. It's not as if you need the money any more," she retorted sharply. "And if they find out you're an escort, who cares? Oh! Actually, that could work to our benefit. It would give me an excuse to get a divorce after…say two months or so?"

"…Are you saying you're going to accuse me of adultery?" Antonio asked playfully.

"Sure, sure. That sounds right. Don't worry, I'll give you a nice settlement," Elizaveta said and patted his hand from across the table.

"Consider me assured."

"Now, after we're divorced, I'll go crying home to my parents and complain to them about how you broke my heart and how you're a monster and a whore and blah, blah, blah…"

"Of course," Antonio chimed in enthusiastically.

"After that, I tell them _'I just need to get away. Just for a little while.'_  And I run away to Europe and live the rest of my life out in peace."

The waiter laid down Antonio's latte, and Antonio grasped it gratefully. "So is that it?" he asked politely, and blew on the foam.

Elizaveta looked up thoughtfully, and nodded her head. "Yeah, that's about the gist of it."

"All right, good," Antonio smiled. "Now tell me what we're actually doing tonight."

Elizaveta stuck her tongue out. "Fine, you floozy. Have it your way." She uncrossed her legs and leaned back in the seat, a bit more resigned. "Well, there are two things. First, I'd like you to come to Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week with me. At least for a few of the shows. We can go to the ones that Francis walks or something."

"Oh!" Antonio's face brightened with genuine curiosity. "I've never been. That sounds really interesting."

"I guess. It's just a bunch of skinny bitches in skirts," Elizaveta shrugged. "But you're an artist, so you'll probably get a kick out of it."

Antonio certainly would. He wasn't sure what to expect, but he was really intrigued all of a sudden.

"Also, and this isn't so much a job as it is an offer, but I'm dragging Gilbert and Francis with me to that same bar to try and hunt down Sophia again. It looks like they really enjoyed your outing with them last week—they practically begged me to bring you with me," she said, the last part sounding a bit annoyed. "Do you have any plans?"

Antonio paused for a moment, and he mentally scrolled through his schedule. "Well, I have an appointment at eight," he began slowly. "But it never takes very long. When were you thinking of meeting?"

"Like around ten, maybe?"

"Oh, perfect. I'll be done by then," Antonio replied, and his smile broadened suggestively.

Elizaveta gawked at him, and she couldn't help but set aside her jealousy and smirk. "You little tramp."

Antonio just laughed. Somehow he was never insulted by the slurs. He just didn't see what he did as a bad thing. He didn't see it at all.

 

~/~

 

The appointment went just as Antonio thought it would. He met Abel, and as usual, it was no talk, and all action. As Antonio went through the motions and followed Abel's lead, his mind kept flitting back to Sadik.

He was trying to understand the difference. For some reason, the thought really consumed him, because it's not as though Abel treated him as a glass figurine either. He was possessive and rough, and took every liberty with what happened in the bedroom, but it didn't feel  _bad_.

…So what was it then?

Antonio felt as though he was on the verge of understanding something. He knew his art would change soon.

 

~/~

 

When he was finished, it was a race to shower, dress, and run over to the bar in time. He managed to tame his hair somewhat, but his face was still rather flushed, and his lips fairly swollen. There was no denying it. He looked as if something very, very inappropriate just happened. It was a good thing he didn't really care.

"Oh my god, finally!" Elizaveta shouted. She was standing in front of the bar in her same leather jacket, but with clean black jeans and high heels this time too. Francis and Gilbert were standing next to her, and looked up when they saw Antonio coming.

"Sorry," Antonio smiled, and he jogged to their little circle. "Am I late?" he asked, and he fidgeted with his jacket to find his wristwatch.

"No, don't worry," Francis said smoothly and patted Antonio's arm. "You're early. Elizaveta was just getting impatient."

"How do you know she's even into girls? It looked like she was pretty into me last week," Gilbert boasted with a smirk.

She barely glanced over her shoulder when she replied to Gilbert. "I don't know if she's into girls or not, but she definitely wasn't into you." Elizaveta started leading the way into the bar. It was five stars and adjacent to a very famous and popular hotel of the same name.

Francis snickered and pushed Gilbert through the door. "There's more fish in the sea,  _mon cher_. Don't let it get you down."

"It wasn't getting me down! Eliza doesn't know what she's talking about!"

"Sure, sure," Francis replied, and he gestured for Antonio to follow their way.

The inside of the bar was just as pristine as the outside. Antonio followed the group up the red-carpeted stairs to the second floor. The bar was to the left and the DJ and tables were situated to the right.

"Let's get some drinks," Elizaveta announced, and she dropped into one of the booths. "Toni, you sit next to me."

Antonio chuckled but did as he was told. Gilbert and Francis sat across from him, and they were already skimming the menus.

"So what sort of thing do you like, Toni?" Francis asked, his eyes sparkling curiously.

Antonio smiled as he read the menu. "I don't think there's a particular drink that escorts drink, if that's what you're asking."

"Really?" Francis laughed. "For some reason, I imagine you drinking something very exotic. Or something illegal."

This time it was Antonio's turn to laugh. "Maybe some of them do. But I'm afraid I don't know alcohol very well." He felt as though he never needed it. He liked being aware of things, and what was going on; and he never felt very awkward around drunk people, either.

"That's too bad," Francis joked, and he tucked some of his loose hair behind his ears.

Antonio smiled demurely at him and resumed looking at the menu.

"Oh, Gilbert. Look over there. Is that your future brother-in-law?" Francis asked suddenly, and his voice was dripping with amusement.

Gilbert flinched and turned around side to side. "Shit. Is he really here?" he panicked and finally locked onto someone standing near the bar on the other side. "Oh, god. Hide me."

"Who is this?" Antonio asked as he tried to put the pieces together. Gilbert's brother was engaged, right? And to that girl…Oh! "Are you talking about Lovino?" His voice was at once more interested, and he scanned the room.

"Do you know him?" Francis questioned.

"Well, I met him at the gala last week," Antonio replied, and he smiled when he spotted Lovino's profile.

"Oh, yes. That's where I first met him too. He had me under a completely different impression at first," Francis said playfully, and he matched eyes with Antonio. "You see, ever since Gilbert's brother's betrothal, Lovino's been very watchful over their family. He's constantly criticizing what they do. It's quite funny."

"It is  _not_ funny," Gilbert corrected, and he slumped in his seat to try and avoid Lovino's view. "I swear every time he looks at me with that sly smile he's planning on how to bury my body."

Antonio laughed and kept his eyes on Lovino. He was standing near the bar, talking to some girl. He was wearing a grey suit this time, and it was as beautiful and tailored as ever. Elegant is the only way to describe him.

"He just looks at me with that condescending stare, and I'm sure he's thinking  _'That crazy, awesome bachelor. How can he be related to that boring, successful banker?'_ "

"I'm not sure if that's how he would put it," Francis commented, and ignored Gilbert's glare.

"I just don't see how he can act all high and mighty. Look at half of the stuff he's done, and tell me how I'm worse."

Antonio started tuning out of the conversation and watched how Lovino's face alternated from bored, to slightly interested, to bored again. He sighed a lot too. What was Lovino thinking about?

"Antonio?" Francis called.

At the sound of his name, Antonio turned around with a fast smile. "Yes?"

"I'm curious. What's your opinion on Lovino?" Francis asked, and he tried to wave down a waitress. No luck there.

Antonio glanced back in Lovino's direction unwittingly. "He seems nice. I can tell he cares about art very much."

Francis's lips turned up mischievously. "That's very interesting. I think I might've chosen similar words the first time I met him."

"And what would you say now?" Antonio replied, and for some reason he felt a foreign vigilance harden his eyes.

If Francis noticed, he didn't mind, and just smiled slightly. "I think he's very capricious. And a bit of a daredevil as well. So I find it rather funny when he criticizes Gilbert for being the same way."

"I know right?" Gilbert shouted rather exasperated.

Antonio took his time and eyed Lovino's face. He didn't know him well enough to know whether he was a daredevil or not, but he didn't agree with the way his new friends looked at Lovino. Antonio didn't quite see the... _roughness_ they applied to him. Lovino was something different.

"I think there's a purity about him," Antonio said thoughtfully. There was something about the way Lovino looked at the world, and at other things. His eyes were so dark and cautious. It made Antonio think.

Oh, it seems Lovino caught Antonio looking at him.

Automatically, Antonio smiled wider, and he wanted to laugh when he saw Lovino roll his eyes.

Meanwhile, Gilbert was still reeling from what Antonio had said earlier. " _Pure?_ " he repeated. "You've got to be kidding me. You don't know half of what he's done. I could tell you stories that would make your head spin."

Francis watched Antonio beckon Lovino over with his eyes, and whispered quietly to Gilbert, "I don't believe he's listening to us."

"You think?" Gilbert complained and he crossed his arms with a huff. "Call a waitress over. I want some beer."

"Oh, perhaps not just yet. It looks like we'll have some company," Francis murmured back and he bit his lip to stifle his laughter. Gilbert just groaned.

"Lovino," Antonio said, and he put on his most charming smile. "How are you doing? It's been a while."

Lovino stood in front of their table and shifted his gaze across Francis and Gilbert. "Are you friends with these people?"

"I have a name, you know!" Gilbert exclaimed.

Lovino just smirked and took the liberty of sitting next to Antonio.

"Are you joining us?" Antonio asked, his eyes bright. He watched how Lovino looked around the bar distractedly.

"I'm waiting for someone," Lovino replied offhandedly and retrieved his phone from his pocket. He began texting.

"Is that so?" Antonio asked, and he tried peering at the lit screen.

"Yes." Lovino suddenly locked his phone and put it back in his pocket. "What are you drinking?" he asked, and his tone was very tired.

"Oh, I don't know yet," Antonio laughed, and he glanced at Lovino hopefully. "Would you like to choose for me?"

Lovino grabbed the menu wordlessly and began looking.

"So has Feli chosen a dress yet?" Francis asked, trying to make light conversation.

"Of course not," Lovino muttered, and he flipped a page. "She can't make up her mind about anything. I'm helping her choose this weekend."

"Oh really? What designer did you have in mind?"

"We're going to Lincoln Center, and we'll choose there," Lovino answered, and he dropped the menu on the table. He sighed. "Well, I'll be the one choosing."

"Are you talking about Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week?" Elizaveta asked. After Lovino nodded his head, she exclaimed, "Oh! We'll be there too!" And she ruffled Antonio's hair.

Lovino's eyes sparkled maliciously, and he almost smiled. "You two are awfully close. You do know that she's a lesbian, don't yo—"

"He knows that," Elizaveta interrupted. "We're just going for fun."

Lovino shrugged his shoulders and turned away. His eyes were faraway again.

"I've never been before," Antonio added. "Is it nice?"

Lovino glanced at him. "I like it," he said shortly. Then his gaze moved downwards and he narrowed his eyes. "Don't these things hurt?" Lovino asked, and he motioned to a hickey still fresh on Antonio's neck.

Antonio didn't understand the question at first, but he touched his neck and recognition lit his eyes. He smiled slowly and suggestively. "It depends on how they happened," Antonio replied.

Lovino rolled his eyes and sat back in the seat. "Slut," he mumbled quietly.

Antonio laughed, and he felt very invigorated. Lovino was calm and startling at the same time.

Suddenly, a waitress appeared, and she took their orders. Gilbert had a draft beer, Francis had sparkling wine, and Elizaveta had a dry martini.

When the waitress turned to Antonio, Lovino answered for him.

"He'll have a Sex on the Beach."

Antonio's heart skipped a beat and he glanced at Lovino curiously, if not also very, very amused.

Lovino just stared at him in return. "I'm sure you've had it before, but the ones here are very good."

"I'm sure they are," Antonio grinned, and he felt adrenaline tickle his skin.

Lovino pressed his lips together in what appeared to be an attempt at stifling a smile. Then something caught his attention and he turned the other way. "Well, I have to go," he said, and stood up.

"Really? Going already. I thought this was getting fairly amusing," Francis chuckled, and cupped his chin in his palm.

"Who are you meeting?" Antonio asked, now more interested than he was before.

Lovino barely looked at him as he fixed his tie. "Someone I know," he replied vaguely. "Enjoy the drink," he said, and turned on his heel.

"See you this weekend!" Antonio called after him, and his eyes lingered on the retreating sway of Lovino's hips. He was walking down the stairs.

After he was out of earshot, Elizaveta tutted disapprovingly.

"Geez, why didn't you just shove your business card down his throat?" she remarked, and she swiped her bangs away from her face.

Antonio was still watching Lovino leave—waiting to see who the  _someone I know_  was. "What do you mean?" he asked innocently.

"Please," she groaned. "You were ogling him with bedroom eyes and talking to him with an accent so thick, I could barely understand what you were saying. At some point, I thought you were going to jump into his lap and start licking him."

"That probably would've gotten him to stay," Antonio pointed out dryly. He saw Lovino approach someone standing near the entrance. It took a moment for Antonio to understand who it was. Tall, blond, with a stylish flare, and particular crescent-shaped scar on his forehead— _Abel_.

So many different emotions flitted through Antonio's chest, he didn't know what to feel or think at the moment. Why would Abel be meeting Lovino? Why would Lovino be meeting Abel? How are they even acquaintances?

Antonio was able to recognize that a part of him was jealous, but he didn't know whom for or why. It's not as though he actually liked Abel. And he barely knew Lovino. But the thought of them…

Antonio's clenched his fingers into his palms. Abel was too rough for someone like Lovino. But Antonio was also worried that Lovino might like Abel's lust. And that wasn't fair, because Abel belonged—and Lovino was— _wait._  This was getting confusing.

"Is everything okay, Antonio?" Elizaveta asked, her tone less playful than before.

"Um," Antonio paused, and was at a rare loss for words. "Who is Lovino talking to over there?"

Everyone turned in the same direction. After a moment, Gilbert looked away and Elizaveta narrowed her eyes. Only Francis spoke up.

"Oh, that's Abel something or other. I've met him before here and there," Francis said, and he pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"Are they friends or something?" Antonio asked, and tried to keep his tone slightly disinterested.

France exchanged a quick look with Gilbert. "Ah… _or something_  would probably be more accurate," he replied slowly. After he caught Antonio's dejected eyes, Francis added, "I wouldn't worry about it though. It's business really. Many people have business with him."

_With Abel or Lovino?_

"Finally. The drinks are here," Gilbert exclaimed loudly, and he lunged after his beer.

The waitress passed out the rest of the drinks and everyone grasped them readily. The topic of conversation quickly changed to lighter, more meaningless things, and they were all easily distracted.

Antonio tried his drink.

Lovino was right.

He quite liked Sex on the Beach.

 

~/~

 

Lovino woke up in a start. His heart was pounding and his brain raced to understand where he was, how long he'd been here, and what happened. He didn't recognize the place. He didn't understand if it was an apartment or a hotel. He knew the aftereffects were kicking in, so he tried to work fast. He just wanted to be home.

He found his pants, shirt and jacket, and pulled them on fast. He found his wallet still in his pocket and his phone on the nightstand. Then he shoved his feet into his shoes and raced to the door.

His hands were shaking, and he couldn't stop darting his eyes to every corner. He just wanted to be home. He just wanted to be home.

Once he was safe in the elevator, he checked his watch. It was four in the morning. Then he checked his phone. About ten missed calls from Feli.

He just wanted to be home. He didn't know what he was thinking. He got caught up in the night. He didn't know what he was doing.

But some part of him knew that he would do it again.

 

~/~

 

Antonio was working on a new sculpture. It was of a woman. She was naked, and lying down, but partially covered in a rumpled blanket. He was stuck on her expression. He wanted to capture that  _sadness-after-happiness_. The ten second realization that something so great happened so fast, and that it was gone forever.

He wanted her eyes to say that she understood.

Melancholy and drear made up hours, days, weeks, months and years of life; and the best parts went by in minutes.

Sometimes even seconds.

 

~/~

 

"All right," Lovino said with a sigh, and he rubbed his temple. "Tell me again. But this time, do it slowly, and  _don't_  contradict yourself."

Felicia giggled and stared up at the ceiling as she prepared herself. "Ve~ okay. So, I want an ivory, cream—"

"There you go again. Ivory and cream are different colors. Pick one," Lovino interrupted and tossed his head back. They'd been at this the entire morning. They were driving to Lincoln Center now.

"Well," Feli hummed. "Which one do you think I'll look better in?"

"Ivory," Lovino said automatically. "Okay, now what style. And  _don't_  contradict yourself."

"Okay! I want a strapless ball gown-style dress. Oh! Like the one Grace Kelly had!"

"Her dress wasn't strapless! It was long-sleeved!" Lovino yelled abruptly. Then his shoulders slumped and he groaned. "Why do I know so much more about this than you?"

"You always know more about these sort of things," Feli smiled, and she patted her brother's shoulder in reassurance. "I'll just tell you what I like when I see it. It won't be hard."

"Whatever," Lovino muttered, and he glanced at the window. "We're here."

"Oh, I'm so excited!" Feli exclaimed, and she clamored out of the car. She almost tripped on their way inside Lincoln Center, but Lovino pretended he didn't notice. Secretly, he made a note not to choose heels over three inches.

 

~/~

 

Lovino loved Fashion Week. He always has. Feli may have been the one to suggest it, and by all accounts was the one to "force" Lovino to help her choose a dress…but in reality, Lovino didn't mind.

Beautiful things distracted him. Opinions distracted him. For at least a few fleeting moments he was caught up with the awe, or the anger, or the distaste for something. It was pathetically invigorating, but it was a special occasion, so Lovino allowed it.

He wasn't going to let Felicia mess up her own wedding, even if it was associated with the boring, German banker. No, Lovino was a perfectionist about these sorts of things. So when he chose three Carolina Herrera ivory dresses, he said it with finality, and didn't leave room for question.

Feli tried protesting. "But what about that cute pink one from the other sh—"

"No."

"Do you think I'll look okay in lace?"

"Yes."

"Do you think Ludwig will like it?"

"Doesn't matter."

Feli pouted and grabbed at her brother's arm. "Lovi…it does matter. I love him. I want him to be happy too."

Lovino rolled his eyes. "He'd be happy if you were wearing a negligee as long as you were still waiting for him at the altar."

Felicia giggled and mussed her brother's hair. "That's so romantic of you, Lovi."

Lovino frowned and fixed his hair back into place. "I'm just being realistic," he muttered and pulled a cigarette and lighter from his pocket. They finished the bridal shows, and were loitering outside so Lovino could have a smoke.

Lovino lit his cigarette and took a deep breath. Finally, he thought.

"When are you going to give up smoking?" Feli asked.

Lovino eyed him, and took another drag. "How many maids of honor are you having again? Is it three or four?"

Feli pouted briefly, but then set to work on counting to herself. "Well, there's Sophia—she already flew in from Austria, so she'll be around to try on her dress. And there's Michelle and there's Emma…unless you think I should invite Elizaveta too?"

"Do you even know her?"

"Sure I do! We hang out all the time!"

"Really?" Lovino mumbled.

Felicia nodded her head vigorously. "You're always so busy, so you never come, but we get dinner a lot together."

Lovino pursed his lips. "Fine, so four dresses," he repeated. Felicia confirmed with a smile and he added, "We'll look for those next then. Come on." He threw his cigarette to the floor and stamped it, then led the way back into the building.

It was terribly crowded, but that wasn't any surprise. Lovino and Felicia were well-practiced with crowds and maneuvering around them, so they swerved through smoothly. The only problem was Felicia, so Lovino prayed in his heart that she wouldn't find someone she recognized and—

"Elizaveta!"

Lovino cursed silently and stopped his pace. He looked over his shoulder at his sister and Elizaveta embracing happily, and sighed to himself. Then he retraced his steps.

"Feli! Fancy running into you here," Elizaveta joked and gave Lovino a subtle wink. She turned back to Feli. "So have you found a dress yet?"

"Ve~ we found three," Felicia laughed excitedly. "Lovino picked all of them out. I'll get to try them in one or two weeks hopefully."

"Oh, how exciting!" Elizaveta exclaimed, and her eyes sparkled. "Do you think I can come to the fitting?"

Lovino opened his mouth to say no, but Feli was quicker to the punch.

"Yes, of course! I want everyone to be there!" Feli squealed and tackled Elizaveta in another hug.

"Oh my god," Lovino groaned, and he covered his face with his hand. He couldn't handle this. Feli was too social and enabling for her own good.

Then someone murmured near his ear, "Is something the matter?"

Lovino jumped and turned sharp to the left. He was staring face to face with Antonio—that peculiar artist. He was holding a coffee cup and smiling pleasantly, by all means even politely. But there was still something lingering in his eyes that made Lovino suspicious.

"Did I surprise you?" Antonio asked with a soft laugh. He saw Elizaveta holding her hand out expectantly and he passed on the coffee. "I'm sorry for the wait," he said smoothly.

"No problem, honey," Elizaveta teased.

Lovino caught himself before he grinned. He was  _so_  amused. "Is he your errand boy now?"

"Errand boy by day, lover by night," Elizaveta replied dramatically. "That's his slogan. It's on his card." She exchanged a glance with Antonio, and added, "He can show you if you like."

"No thank you," Lovino dismissed swiftly, as if it hardly mattered. "I have too many cards to keep track of already."

Antonio's eyes flickered at the end of that statement. Lovino didn't understand that expression.

"Oh, Antonio! I heard from Feliks that you had some new pieces you were working on. Is that true?"

Lovino's face brightened at Feli's question. He looked at Antonio with more interest.

"It is," Antonio replied easily. "One is almost done. And two I have about halfway there." He caught Lovino's excited stare and added, "You can stop by my studio sometime if you'd like to see them."

"Oh!" Feli gasped and nudged her brother's shoulder. "Lovi, wouldn't that be exciting?"

_Yes, it would be._

Lovino's cheeks were warm with genuine thrill. He loved art studios. He used to visit them quite often. He told himself again and again that he romanticized artists and art too much, but every time he visited a studio, he couldn't help but feel touched. He knew he was walking into a room of someone's soul.

"Would you like to?" Antonio asked again, this time directed to Lovino.

Lovino glanced away from Antonio and forced the fantasies out of his head. He needed to be realistic. Artists were just people. Studios were just places. Art was just decoration.

"Sure," he said after a while. "It might be interesting."

Antonio smiled wickedly. "I'll make sure it is."

Lovino watched him curiously. There was definitely something odd about Antonio. Perhaps he wasn't an introvert, or as socially inept as some of the artists he encountered, but there was something there…something akin to unguarded or completely bare. Where were his defenses?

Lovino's mind flashed back to that day in the Galleria, and the crumpled mess he found Antonio in. Why did Antonio let that happen? Why did he keep his job? What could he possibly be thinking?

"Hey, Lovi," Feli called.

Lovino returned from his daydreams and turned to Felicia.

"Ve~ Elizaveta invited us to watch Francis's show with her and Toni. Why don't we go with them! She has spare seats."

"Who has spare seats to a Prada fashion show?" Lovino demanded.

Elizaveta threw a sly and calculating look as she flipped her long hair. "Well, you never know, do you?" She started strutting away with Feli bouncing at her side.

Antonio laughed and encouraged Lovino forward. "She's a force of nature. It's better just to go along with her."

Lovino straightened his tie and created space between them. "That's your job," he remarked snidely.

But Antonio only chuckled some more and accompanied him to the show.

 

~/~

 

"Of course she'd have front row seats," Lovino commented as he glanced around. He wanted to be annoyed, but he was also too damn enamored to play it off convincingly.

"Hm, Elizaveta gets what she wants," Antonio replied happily. He was sitting in between Elizaveta and Lovino…for some unknown reason.

The room dimmed and the runway was illuminated. The show started.

"What do you think?" Antonio asked.

"Are you interested in fashion now?"

"I'm interested in your opinion."

"Because you don't have one of your own. I understand now," Lovino muttered. His eyes followed the first model. "Not a fan of drop-waist dresses. But I like the color."

"Green?"

" _Malachite_ ," Lovino clarified lowly.

Antonio stifled a laugh. "I apologize." Another model walked out. "And this one?"

"Mm, I'm always a fan of leather. The length of the jacket's interesting. Different from the usual."

"And this one?"

"If culottes actually come back, I'm burning the runway down," Lovino warned. Then a thought struck him. "Wait—did you say Francis was walking this show? I thought this was women's wear only."

"I'm not really sure," Antonio replied vaguely. "What do you think of this one?"

"How about you offer a damn opinion."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Antonio leaned over the chair and stared at the model long and intently. "Beautiful hands."

"Excuse me?"

"Her hands. They're very beautiful. Very elegant."

Lovino glared at him. "I meant an opinion on the  _clothes_."

"Oh, well I know next to nothing about clothes," Antonio said honestly. He leaned close to Lovino and whispered, "I'm more interested in what's underneath."

Lovino pushed him away. "Slut."

Antonio chuckled, and his eyes were bright. "Some people would call that romantic."

"They don't mean it the way you do."

"How do you know?" Antonio teased playfully.

Lovino turned to snap at him, but was struck by the reoccurring thoughts before he could. Antonio's eyes confused him again.

"Why are you an escort?" Lovino asked, his voice keen.

Antonio smiled automatically. "I need money of course."

"You could've become a bartender if you needed money."

"Hm, the pay isn't quite as  _satisfying_ ," Antonio countered lewdly.

Lovino scowled, crossed his arms and waited for a real answer.

Antonio laughed and glanced at the model walking by. "I like people. That's why."

"That's stupid," Lovino remarked. "They're paying to use you."

Antonio hummed thoughtfully. "Well, I'm giving them my consent to use me, so I think that counts as something different."

"No."

"No?"

"You shouldn't let people tell you what to do," Lovino argued. His face was heated. "People are terrible."

"I don't think so," Antonio mused calmly. "I find people fascinating. There are too many layers for them to be terrible. They're just complicated," he reflected and his eyes drifted somewhere far in the distance. "People and art are the only things worth living for. They're the only things that make life interesting. And in essence people and art they result to the same thing."

Lovino recoiled as if the statement burned him. "People are  _not_  art."

"Why not?" Antonio countered playfully. The topic appeared to intrigue him. "People inspire art, people create art, people appreciate art…"

"That doesn't mean people  _are_  art," Lovino argued seriously. "Art is something more, it's something else—it's what we want, or what we want to see, or feel. It's what makes life bearable," he explained a bit too impassioned. His cheeks were burning. "So you shouldn't listen to people is what I'm saying."

Antonio was staring at Lovino with no traces of ever turning away. He grinned wildly. "Oh, was that the moral of the conversation? I thought we were talking about something far more interesting."

Lovino faced the runway. He let the lights blind him. "What about what happened last week?"

Antonio was silent, and then came a soft sigh of realization. "Ah, I see now."

"I doubt it."

"You think I let people hurt me."

"What have I been saying until now?" Lovino demanded, annoyance seeping into his tone.

"I do what people want me to. I want to make people happy."

"And if that person wants to swing his fist across your face that's just dandy with you?"

Antonio laughed lightly and ran his fingers through his curls. "That was a rare occasion. It wasn't typical."

"But you still let it happen," Lovino pointed out.

Antonio bowed his head slightly, admitting defeat. "I was curious. I wanted to understand."

Lovino gaped. "Understand what?"

Antonio shrugged his shoulders as if it were obvious. "Him."

Lovino stared at him. "You're an idiot."

"I'm an artist."

"I don't think I hear a difference anymore," Lovino muttered quietly.

Antonio heard him, and smiled all the same.

 

~/~

 

After the show, the four of them loitered outside together; they were all waiting for their rides. Elizaveta and Feli gossiped about the wedding some more—Elizaveta managed to secure information on a certain other bridesmaid.

Lovino was smoking another cigarette, and after catching Antonio staring at him, he begrudgingly offered one to him.

"No thank you," Antonio declined politely. He had his hands in his suit pockets and looked completely at leisure. "I don't really care for cigarettes."

Lovino tucked the box away. "Me neither," he replied as he took a long drag of his cigarette.

Antonio tilted his head curiously, but didn't bother to ask.

"Who chooses your suits for you?" Lovino asked suddenly.

Antonio was surprised by the question, but answered anyway. "Louise—my employer. I don't really care about clothes, so…"

Lovino nodded once. "Tell her to choose darker colors. Where the hell do you think you're going wearing beige?"

Antonio looked down a bit surprised. "I thought it looked nice."

"Your opinion doesn't matter," Lovino replied coolly.

Antonio's lips turned up. "I suppose not," he admitted. "I'll be sure to pass on the message."

Lovino glanced at him over his cigarette and turned away. He flicked the ashes to the ground.

"When would you like to visit my studio?" Antonio asked casually.

Lovino searched for their car. "I don't know. When I don't have plans."

Antonio's body tensed and the same alertness returned to his features. "Are you usually very busy?"

"Yeah…" Lovino sighed.

"With what?"

"Business, art, the wedding…." Lovino listed tiredly. Then he belatedly, he added, "Just people in general."

"What people?" Antonio asked, but it didn't sound half as mild as he hoped.

Lovino stared at him, and his brown eyes shined amber. "Just people," he replied solidly. A mischievous smile spread across his features. "Believe it or not, I might be just as popular as you are."

Antonio stared back. Then he laughed to fill the void.

Inside, he burned.

He needed to know. He needed to know Lovino.

 

~/~

 

Felicia sat in the kitchen, reading over her wedding menu. It was past ten in the morning, and Lovino still hadn't strolled in. She was secretly keeping guard in the most open area of the apartment.

As the clock ticks drew on, they echoed louder and louder. Feli was getting impatient. She glanced at her phone and debated calling. But Lovino was so angry the last time she stressed out...

She reached for the phone, then flinched at the sound of the door. Someone walked in.

"Lovi?" she called happily.

Lovino strolled through the kitchen, disheveled, wild, and an uncharacteristic mess. Though Feli was more accustomed to it at this point. "Hi," he muttered quietly. His fingers reached for his head and he groaned.

"There's water and aspirin near the sink," Feli said wistfully. She watched her brother fumble with the pill and swallow it down. "Did you have a good time last night?"

He grunted a lame response.

"Lovi…"

"It was fine, all right?" he said a bit clearer.

Feli pouted and watched her brother carefully. "Are you seeing someone?"

Lovino laughed, but it sounded more like coughing. "Seeing someone?" he repeated.

"Well, you're always gone at night. And you come back looking like this," Feli gestured up and down.

Lovino looked him straight in the eye. "I see _people._  I go  _places_. Not singular. Plural."

"Is that fun for you?" Feli asked, and her eyes tensed in concern.

Lovino loathed the deafening silence. "At least it isn't boring," he muttered, and sauntered back to his room.

Feli wondered if it would be any different the next morning.

 

~/~

 

Antonio was seeing stars. He was at that high. This was the feeling he wanted to capture; this was the feeling he knew better than any other. It coursed through his veins, wrapped around his heart and glistened in his eyes...He knew it.

Antonio was lying on the bed by himself, the sheets tossed to the side, and the afternoon sun bathing him. He was warm, sore, sweaty, and comfortable.

He sighed, and stretched his arms.

"Will you quit sighing already," the low voice demanded from the corner. "You've been like that for hours."

"Has it really been hours?" Antonio asked dreamily.

Abel scoffed, and adjusted himself on his couch. "How should I know? Aren't you the one who's supposed to be counting the time?"

"Yeah," Antonio replied, and he slowly sat up on the bed. He caught Abel staring at him from across the room, and his lips spread in a coy smile. "What are you looking at?"

Abel took a long inhale of his pipe and turned away. "You're strange today."

"I thought you said that I wa—"

"Of course, you're strange everyday."

"There it is," Antonio laughed lightly. His gaze traveled to the window and he traced the lines of the skyscraper next to them. Then he glanced at Abel again. "Why are you already dressed?"

Abel glared at him, exhaled and said nothing.

Antonio fell forwards on the bed and propped himself up on his elbows. "I'm so bored."

"Then leave," Abel replied shortly. He took out his phone and tapped at the screen.

Antonio frowned and cupped his cheek in his palm. He'd been meaning to ask something the entire time, but somehow he couldn't find a way to actually say it. The fact that Abel always acted so disinterested wasn't helping either.

"You're sighing again," Abel pointed out, and he glanced up from his phone. "Is there a reason why you're still here?"

Antonio's cheeks warmed, and he averted his eyes to the sheets.

"What? You're embarrassed now? After what happened earlier?" Abel demanded, though his tone wasn't as rough as before. He sounded curious.

Of course, Antonio's immediate response was to chuckle and turn away, as if he'd been playing a joke all along.

Abel didn't fall for it, but he ignored him anyway. Silence was the only way to get Antonio to talk.

A few seconds passed. Abel took a long drag.

Antonio picked at the sheets as he bit his lip thoughtfully.

Abel exhaled slowly.

Finally, he heard a Spanish accent.

"So what do you do exactly?" Antonio blurted. His cheeks were bright red, but his eyes were very intent. "Like for work."

Abel just looked at him blankly. Then a sly grin spread across his face. "You see what I'm smoking and you still ask that?"

Antonio pursed his lips. "So…you're a drug dealer?"

Abel shrugged his shoulders noncommittally and he took a long inhale of his pipe.

Antonio didn't like that response.

"You're still sighing," Abel pointed out tiredly. His eyes traveled all over Antonio and he frowned. "And still naked. Get dressed. I have stuff to do."

Completely disregarding the order, Antonio took a deep breath, and asked, "How do you know Lovino?"

That caught Abel off guard. He met Antonio's gaze and raised an eyebrow. "You know what I do for a living and you still ask that question?"

Antonio forehead wrinkled as he tried to process the answer. "So you sell drugs…to Lovino?"

Another shrug. That was Abel's way of saying  _Yes._

Antonio thought for a moment. "What sort of drugs?"

Abel stared at him as he breathed in his pipe. His eyes narrowed in a way that said  _As if I'd tell you that._

Antonio dropped his hand on the bed in mute frustration. He turned away.

The silence drew on until Abel slowly asked, "So are you going to put your clothes on or just—"

"Have you done anything else with Lovino?" Antonio demanded suddenly.

Again, Abel looked at him rather surprised. His amber-green eyes took their time surveying Antonio's face, before he replied, "Why do you ask?"

"I'm curious," Antonio said, as if it explained everything.

Abel laughed shortly, a bit amused, but also cruel. He enjoyed teasing Antonio. "I'm sorry," he retorted. "I meant,  _why do you care_?"

Antonio was glaring at him now. His embarrassment fading away in exchange for something stronger. "I'm serious."

"For once in your life," Abel commented sarcastically.

"Just answer the question."

"After you answer mine."

Antonio sat up on the bed in flash. He jumped off the mattress and began hunting for his clothes. He didn't know why he was so frustrated— _he just was_. Something about Abel being insufferable, something about the topic that was driving him insane, and some strange feeling associated with Lovino being caught up in the mix of all of this.

"Your pants are somewhere in the kitchen," Abel announced. He was already busy on his phone.

Antonio didn't say anything and just stomped past him in his shirt and underwear. He found his pants and pulled them on roughly. Then he needed his shoes…

"Over here," Abel called and he gestured to the loafers near the foot of the couch.

Antonio marched over and grabbed his shoes. He began unlacing them and shoving his feet in.

"Should I just skip the joke about you bending over for me?" Abel asked jokingly.

Antonio didn't find it so funny. He cursed darkly in Spanish, and finished tying his shoes quickly. He stood up and grabbed his jacket still lying on the carpet, then turned towards the door.

"Actually," Abel announced dramatically. "I'm on the phone with Lovino now."

Antonio peered over his shoulder, and his eyes shined maliciously.

That was the reaction Abel was looking for, and he smiled. "We haven't done anything more," he said simply. He watched Antonio's shoulders deflate and his eyes ease. Then Abel added, "But I'll keep it in mind if it'll bother you that much."

Antonio glowered and yanked open the door. " _Vete a la verga culero_ ," he muttered and he slammed the door loudly behind himself.

He ignored the echo of Abel's satisfied laughter and the lingering smell of sex and weed. He wanted to destroy it all. He hated Abel. He absolutely despised him.

Part of him wanted to bust down the door and fuck Abel until he was screaming…

But Antonio knew that would defeat the purpose, so he kept walking away.

God, he really, really just hated Abel.

And he'd be damned if he let him touch Lovino.

 

~/~

 

"Lovi."

"Mm."

"Lovi," Feli called more demandingly.

Lovino glanced at her. "What is it?"

Feli gestured to the phone. "Who are you texting?"

"People," he replied vaguely.

Feli pouted her lips and eyed him suspiciously. "Are you really not seeing anyone in particular? You seem a bit happier."

Lovino smiled slightly. "I'm not seeing anyone."

"Would you tell me if you are?" Feli asked, and her eyes were imploring.

"You would already know if I was," Lovino teased, and he gave her a knowing look. Feli was always snooping and he knew it.

That appeared to lighten the mood and Feli giggled dismissively. Soon enough, the car came to a slow halt and they were parked in front of a decently attractive brick building.

"This must be the place," Feli said excitedly. She gathered her things and opened the door.

Lovino followed her and told the driver, "We shouldn't be more than an hour."

And they exited the car.

"Ve~ well, he has a rather nice studio, doesn't he?" Feli mused as she hopped up the steps to the entrance.

"From the outside it would seem so," Lovino replied idly and he surveyed the area. "But I guess he has the money for one."

Feli laughed and glanced at her brother mischievously. "I think it's kind of interesting he's an escort, don't you?" She pressed the doorbell.

Lovino glowered. "You're engaged."

"I didn't mean for myself," Feli quipped. "I just think it's fascinating to meet one."

"I know what you meant."

Feli smiled flirtatiously, and before she could respond, they were distracted by the sound of the speaker.

_"Hola! Who's calling?"_

Lovino rolled his eyes automatically, while Feli responded, "Hi Toni! It's Lovi and I! We're here to visit your studio."

Lovino drew his eyebrows together and whispered to his sister, "You did tell him we were coming today, didn't you?"

Feli blinked at him. "Why? He knew we were coming at some point."

"You idiot," Lovino scolded, and his cheeks warmed. "What if he has a client in there or something?"

Feli's eyes widened as her cheeks reddened as well. "Oh, I didn't think of that." Her eyes darted to the speaker and she spoke again, "Um, Toni, if you're busy, we can just come back later—"

_"No, no! Don't be silly. I'm not busy at all. I'd like your opinion on something actually. Just come right up."_

The door buzzed, and Feli grasped it.

"Well, he's not busy!" Feli giggled shakily. She was still hot with embarrassment.

"Next time, call ahead," Lovino warned lowly.

They walked up the stairs to the third floor. He lived in 304, the room in the far right corridor. Lovino idly wondered how he got marble up here.

They didn't even have to knock. The door was propped open with a chunk of stone.

"Ve~ we're here Toni!" Feli chirped as she skipped in the room.

"That's safe," Lovino muttered, and trudged in after her. Once inside, however, his frown faded away for a more fervent expression. He took in the room with unabashed curiosity.

It was Antonio's studio. An  _artist's_  studio.

The room was mostly covered in tarp: the floor, the furniture, almost everything was covered aside from a few standing fans. It was to protect everything from the marble debris, of course—but it looked strange nonetheless. And when Lovino walked, he couldn't help but make crunching sounds. That bothered him a bit more.

Feli already found the  _bozzetti_  sitting on a lone table. She was awing over them enthusiastically.

Lovino's breath caught and he was struck with the urge to run to them. But he thought better of it, and slowly wandered.

Suddenly, Antonio turned the corner, looking far more tousled than ever before, and smiled instinctively. "There you are," he called, as he strolled closer.

Lovino wanted to roll his eyes. Now he could see it. Antonio was such a stereotypical artist. When he wasn't buttoned up in suits, he must revert to his base appearance. Antonio was wearing a sleeveless top, and cargo shorts—both of which were filthy with dust and debris. He was also glistening and flushed with exertion, which made Lovino debate whether there was actually a client hiding around here.

"I see you found my sketches," Antonio said, as he strolled over to the  _bozzetti_ : the clay figurines before the attempted final sculpture. "What do you think of them?"

Lovino hadn't looked at them yet. And as he kept an eye on Antonio, he took a few steps forward so he get a better view. He kept a hand to his chin as he stared at them avidly.  _Bozzetti_  and sketches were the most fascinating things to Lovino. If he had a choice, he would accept Raphael's sketchbook over the  _School of Athens_  in a heartbeat. Sketches showed thought. They were roads to the artist's heart. And looking at the women lying in bed, and the curves of her face and body, Lovino could very well detect the cues of Antonio's hand, and the traces of his mind.

"I think they're absolutely lovely," Feli cooed excitedly. "Do you have any of the finished works around here."

"They aren't finished yet, but I have most of them started," Antonio replied easily. He shifted his gaze to Lovino. "Would you like to see them too."

Lovino was still stuck on the jumping horse to respond right away. "Mm, sure," he murmured.

Antonio's lips spread in a zealous smile. "Follow me then," he ordered, and led the way to the other room.

Lovino trailed behind, a bit dazed. The room was so obviously Antonio it was a bit overwhelming.

"You know, Lovi was worried you might have a client here," Feli commented playfully.

Lovino heard the remark, and glared at his sister.

Antonio just laughed. "Don't worry. I never take my clients to my studio."

"Why is that?" Feli asked.

Antonio's eyes unwittingly met Lovino's and they glittered a vibrant green. They almost looked malachite. "That would be too distracting," he replied, and his lips curled sensually.

Lovino scoffed and kept walking to the other room. He stopped in front of the three sculptures.

"Oh," he breathed.

Antonio was by his side, his aura looming over Lovino's skin. "Do you like them?"

"They're incomplete," Lovino remarked offhandedly, and he started circling the woman.

"I told you they were," Antonio replied, his tone easy.

Lovino felt Antonio's eyes on him, but he was too focused on the sculpture to care. It looked soft, it looked real; it didn't look like marble at all.

"You can touch it if you like," Antonio offered courteously. He was still by Lovino's side.

Lovino's hands tingled with excitement, but he didn't dare move a muscle. "I shouldn't. It's art."

Antonio laughed musically, and bent over the sculpture so he could run his hands over the ripples of the stone sheets. He glanced at Lovino meaningfully. "It's not art yet. Go ahead and touch it."

Lovino bit his lip, and noticed Feli was looking at him expectantly. "Fine," he grumbled, and knelt down on the other side of Antonio, closer to the woman's face. Lovino delicately laid his fingers over her cheek. It felt real. He felt the bone underneath the skin. If the body wasn't so cold, she could be alive.

As if reading his thoughts, Antonio pondered out loud, "Wouldn't it be interesting if I could make marble warmer?"

Lovino hummed, and kept his fingers on her face. He traced the outline of her eye. "You really like Bernini, don't you?"

Antonio glanced at him rather pleased. "Is it obvious?"

"It is," Lovino sighed. There were definitely all of the elements of realism in the woman. But he felt as though it wasn't enough. "Can I make a suggestion?" he asked tentatively.

Antonio grinned and looked at Lovino openly. "Please do," he replied.

Lovino pressed his lips together and thought for a moment. "I think you might need a bit more Michelangelo in this sculpture."

Antonio raised a brow. "You don't think Bernini's the better artist?"

Of course he is  _technically_  speaking. No one could soften marble the way he could. He could turn it into anything he wished.

But still… "There's something about Michelangelo that's sexier," Lovino explained smoothly. "It's not all about realism."

Antonio hummed and drank in Lovino's face. "I've never thought about it that way. But I like the way you put it," he reflected.

Lovino pursed his lips.

_Ring!_

At the sound of Feli's jolly ringtone, they both looked up. Feli was scrambling in her purse to answer. "Oh, it's Luddy," she giggled and swiped the screen. " _Ciao_ , Luddy! What do you need?" She wandered away to chat on the phone.

"When is the wedding anyway?" Antonio asked idly, and he pushed himself up.

Lovino followed suit. "Two months," he sighed. "Two months away, and there's still so much to plan."

"That sounds like a lot of time to me."

"It might as well be two days," Lovino muttered, and he checked his phone. He had missed messages from Abel; he'd reply to those later. "Are you really an escort for money?" he asked thoughtfully.

Antonio chuckled and glanced at his sculptures. "Well, marble isn't cheap, you know."

Lovino stared at Antonio's face and imagined the reddened and bruised cheek. "Are you still going to see the customer from that day?"

Antonio smiled but his eyes were sharp. "If he asks for me, I'll probably go."

Fire ripped under Lovino's skin. He hated Antonio's recklessness. There was too much to lose if something happened. "What if you get hurt?" he snapped. "What if you get  _really_ hurt?"

"I doubt that would happen. If he wants to keep using me, he can't hurt me too badly," Antonio pointed out.

Lovino clenched his fists, and tried to reign in his frustration. "What if something happened to your hands? Or your eyes? Don't you care about your art?"

"I do this  _for_  my art," Antonio said mildly. As if the sentiment made it all okay.

"You really shouldn't see that person again," Lovino ordered. He took a deep breath and added, "If it's about money, I can pay for your marble. I don't mind."

Intrigue sparkled in Antonio's eyes. He looked at Lovino with open fascination. It was close to hunger. "I don't care for charity."

"Consider me your Medici," Lovino joked blandly. He was sick of Antonio's stubbornness.

Antonio grinned wickedly. "I'd rather do something in return."

"You'll be making your art. That's enough," Lovino replied levelly.

Antonio hummed and his smile grew more and more vicious. "Mm, but that's not work. I have to do that no matter what. It's instinct," he commented slowly. "I'd rather pay you back properly."

Lovino narrowed his eyes. He fought the urge to laugh. "I don't need an escort," he replied.

"How do you know? It could be fun," Antonio said, and his eyes were dark.

"I don't pay for my company," Lovino countered.

"You'd be paying for my art. I'd just be escorting you for my own enjoyment," Antonio pointed out mischievously. "You'd have to replace my old company somehow."

"Your old company would've raped you."

Antonio bit his lip. "That's a little harsh."

"It's realistic," Lovino spat and he fixed his hair out of habit. He glared at Antonio in mild curiosity. "Why would you even want to escort me? I can't see how you'd find it interesting."

"How could I not find it interesting?" Antonio laughed, and he looked at Lovino more meaningfully. "If you're worried about doing something sexual, you should know that's not a requirement."

Lovino scoffed. "Why would I be worried about doing something sexual? Do I look a virgin to you?"

Antonio's gaze lingered all over Lovino's face. Then he replied, "You do actually."

"Well, I'm not," Lovino retorted sharply. He chuckled shortly, and added, "I'm about as chaste as you are."

Antonio hummed as he kept his secret smile. "I don't mean a virgin in that way."

Lovino's eyebrows drew together, but before he could question what Antonio meant, Feli waltzed back into the room.

"Lovi, we should probably get going. Luddy's already at the restaurant trying appetizers with Gilbert. We should go before they choose the wrong food," Feli giggled.

"They would, wouldn't they?" Lovino sighed, and he started walking with Feli towards the door. He was hoping Antonio would just drop everything. Just drop it. Drop it. Drop—

"So Lovino, what should I say to this client then?" Antonio asked thoughtfully.

Lovino bit the inside of his cheek and turned around. Antonio was looking at his phone and grinning at him slyly. His eyes glittered like he already won.

Lovino took a deep breath. He wouldn't let himself get worked up. This was for art. He was going to do the rational, reasonable thing. "Tell him no," Lovino replied lowly.

Antonio closed his eyes in brief triumph, and reached into his pocket. He extended a card to Lovino between two fingers. "I'll just call you my Medici then."

Lovino snatched the card, and turned on his heel. He marched out the door and ignored all of Feli's insistent and curious pleas.

He was doing the right thing. He was doing this for art. For the sake of art.

When he was in the car, he betrayed his pride and glanced at the card:

_Antonio Carriedo_

_Call me and I'm yours_

Lovino smiled.

Antonio really had no defenses at all.

He was lucky Lovino was going to build them for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the support! I'm glad other people are as enthusiastic about the idea as I am :)
> 
> And thank you so much for reading! This will most likely be a three-shot at this point. I doubt it will be much longer.
> 
> I'll try to update very soon!


	3. The Moon

It was near four in the afternoon and the sky was clouded over. Everything felt dark, hidden, and mysterious, and the walls of the skyscrapers never ended.

Lovino woke up in a start. His heartbeat was fast, and his eyes were wide open. He didn't move from where he was, and tried to calm his thoughts. As he curled his fingernails into his palms he could feel the adrenaline course through his veins. It was a type of impatience. It chilled Lovino's skin, and made his teeth chatter. His whole body shook as the sole order screamed  _Go_. Just go.  _Go_. Do something. Go. Anything.  _Anything_. Go go go go  _go_.

Get.

Your.

Ass.

Up.

If.

You.

Want.

To.

Fix.

This.

His eyes shifted from the blank space of the window, and with a few shaky breaths, Lovino maneuvered himself off of the bed. He didn't let himself stop. He rode the impulse, and he went.

 

~/~

 

It was a hotel this time. Ivan was back in town, and at times like these, Emma insisted on meeting in unique, and often unusual hotels. She didn't want to risk the chance of him popping in, and she very much liked the chance to get away and whisk Antonio away with her.

They were already in their luxury sweet. Emma wanted to watch a movie—it was some vague romantic drama that Ivan was never interested in. Antonio held her gingerly, and Emma nodded off and on during the course of the movie. Something about Antonio's presence soothed her to the point where her collection of insomniac nights collapsed, and she was finally able to sleep.

She laid her head in his lap, and Antonio pet her hair. The movie was quiet and humming in the background, and neither of them were paying attention anymore. As his fingers worked mechanically through Emma's hair, Antonio gazed out the window. Somehow…some way…he was bored. And it was such a strange feeling. But he recognized it, and he felt a strange emptiness about him, like he was missing or waiting for some element.

Without thinking, his eyes traveled to his phone—it was still dark and poised on the armrest of the couch.

Antonio bit his lip.

The weekend had already passed, and he received no phone call from Lovino. It wasn't surprising really, considering what little Antonio gathered from his personality. What was surprising was how  _disappointed_ Antonio was.

He knew he liked Lovino. There was something intrinsically fascinating about him that Antonio couldn't quite understand, and something guarded and fragile that drew Antonio closer. He wanted to get closer. He wanted to be close.

He wanted Lovino to call him.

But the black screen remained. Light dwindled from the windows, and soon the room blended together.

Everything was dark.

 

~/~

 

_Ring!_

_Ring!_

_Ring!_

_Rin—_

"Hello," Antonio answered. He was staring at the sky; he never glanced at the screen.

A low sigh echoed in the background.  _"You just had sex, didn't you?"_

Oh. Antonio recognized the honey-smooth voice in an instant. A smile unwittingly spread across his lips, and he replied, "Why would you say that?"

_"You sound melancholy…and your breathing is heavy."_

"Mm," Antonio hummed in acknowledgment. "That's an interesting way to put it. It's as if you know me already."

_"You're about as open as your apartment."_

Antonio laughed, and his heart felt light. "Perhaps that's true. I don't like lies very much. The truth is always more interesting," he explained dreamily, and his voice was very far away.

Lovino paused, as though he was debating his answer. Then he muttered,  _"I don't think so."_

Antonio glanced around him and smiled a little smaller. "I'm actually taking a walk though. I'm in Central Park."

 _"Really?"_  Lovino sounded surprised.  _"It's kind of late to go for a walk."_

"What do you think could happen to me?" Antonio teased, and his eyes danced.

Lovino was quiet for a moment. Antonio imagined him rolling his eyes and pressing his lips together in silent annoyance.

 _"Well,"_  he began slowly.  _"I doubt you have anything people would want."_

"That's debatable," Antonio proposed.

Lovino ignored him.  _"Why are you going for a walk anyway?"_

"Ah," Antonio chuckled, and he kept strolling with one hand in his pocket. "I suppose I needed to clear my head for a bit. And I like going for walks at night. There's something romantic about them."

_"Uh-huh."_

"That sounds like disapproval," Antonio said playfully, and he alternated his gaze from the ground to the clouds. "I think the night is very romantic. The darks are much darker, and the lights are so much brighter. It's so alluring…yet somehow, the things that are important are much clearer."

Lovino laughed softly and unwillingly.  _"You're such an artist,"_  he muttered, but his voice didn't sound cruel.

Antonio smiled and he kept walking to the exit of the park. He was swallowed into the stream of the crowd. "Why are you calling by the way?"

 _"Ah,"_  Lovino replied shortly,  _"I was actually wondering if you needed a ride."_

Antonio raised an eyebrow and his lips turned up. "Are you in the neighborhood?"

 _"I'm close enough,"_  Lovino drawled vaguely.

Before Antonio could ask for clarification, he caught a flash of bright red pull to the curb beside him. He never usually glanced at the cars, but he did this time. A tinted window rolled down, and Lovino's distinct profile came into view.

Lovino didn't say anything, and just stared blankly out the passenger door window.

Antonio laughed and hung up the phone. He tucked his phone into his pocket and skipped to the car. The seats were made of high quality leather, and soft to the touch. Antonio sat down with a satisfied smile and glanced at Lovino.

"Nice car," he complimented.

Lovino revved the engine and shifted into drive. "Thanks," he said easily, "it's new."

They crawled away from the curb and settled in the lines of nighttime traffic. It was slow and stop-and-go: very typical New York City. Antonio noticed the golden, orange and vermillion hues filtering through the glass. They danced and reflected and caught the depths of Lovino's eyes. His body was firm and tense, but his expression was always softer.

"Should I take you back to your apartment?" Lovino asked after a while.

It took Antonio a moment to process the question, and a few moments longer to figure out what to say.

Lovino was staring at him expectantly. "Or is there anywhere else you have to go?" he added in mild curiosity.

Antonio smiled. "I don't have to go anywhere. I like to wander."

Lovino rolled his eyes. "Right," he scoffed. They stopped at a red light, and Lovino's hands dropped in his lap. His fingers fidgeted for a while, until finally, he asked, "Um, do you mind if I smoke?"

"Not at all," Antonio replied, and he watched Lovino eagerly reach for his cigarette and lighter. When he had the cigarette in his mouth, Antonio offered, "I can light it for you if you like."

Lovino's eyes flashed to him bright and gold. "Okay," he murmured, and passed the lighter delicately to Antonio's rough hands.

Antonio's smile was perhaps too excited to be so near to Lovino's face. With all the acuity of an artist's eye his gaze trailed over the complexities of his skin – the silky tan and the spotty blush – and the smooth angles of his face. Antonio felt as though he wanted to sculpt him.

Once the cigarette was lit, Lovino's eyes fluttered open, his dark eyes staring at Antonio once again. He took a drag of his cigarette and pulled away. "Thank you," he said.

The light turned green.

After a long while, Antonio mused, "Why this car?"

Lovino stifled a cough on a cigarette, but he didn't do it well. "W-what?"

"Why'd you buy this car? Is there something special about it?"

Lovino's cheeks were tinged red, and it wasn't so much from the lights. "Well, it's a Porsche, so yeah…it's pretty nice."

Antonio nodded his head. "Is it to replace the Mercedes?"

"No, I actually," Lovino paused and his eyes flickered to the wheel, "I have a few cars…three to be precise."

"Oh," Antonio murmured and a dawn of realization gleamed in his eyes. Lovino was far wealthier than he imagined. But there was something else. "Why so many?"

Lovino pressed his lips together and tapped the cigarette outside the window. "I like to collect things I guess. Art, cars, clothes," he trailed off, and his cheeks were red again. "It's whatever."

"Must be nice," Antonio hummed. He watched the glass window of the skyscrapers flash by. "You're not very good at keeping your cars though, are you?"

Lovino coughed again, and this time he tossed the cigarette out the window. He didn't answer the question, and said instead, "I have to go to a gala this weekend. In Boston."

Antonio stared at him, a slow and sly smile inching its way across his cheeks. And since Lovino was still silent, he offered, "Would you like me to join you?"

They were at a red light again, and Lovino's hands were in his lap. "It'll be really boring."

Antonio chuckled; he had the sudden impulse to kiss Lovino's cheek, and it caught him off-guard. "I'll try to entertain you," he recovered smoothly.

Lovino's eyes shifted to his, gold and strong for a moment. "You better. That marble was pretty damn expensive."

Antonio laughed again, and his heart beat a little faster seeing that Lovino had smiled along.

 

~/~

 

"Thanks for the ride," Antonio said. They were parked in front of Antonio's brick apartment complex; the lights of the car drifted away into the dark night.

Lovino started another cigarette, he held it tentatively in his hand. "No problem," he replied softly.

Antonio watched him for a few moments. He was fairly keen at reading people, but Lovino appeared to be written in a whole other language. Beautiful, but daunting; a bit too complex to understand.

"Are you okay?" Antonio asked, and his fingers reached for Lovino's shoulder. He held it reassuringly.

Lovino's muscles tensed, then relaxed at the touch. He exhaled smoke. "I'm fine," he whispered. Then again, with a little more confidence, "I'm fine."

Antonio's lips pursed, and his eyes felt heavy with newfound compassion. He released Lovino's shoulder and leaned against the window instead. Softly, he murmured, "People are so fragile. Have you noticed that?

Lovino was silent.

Antonio stared up at the moon: full and shining behind the pane of glass. "It actually…it terrifies me, when I think about it."

Still no sound.

Antonio's breath fell wistfully, and he grasped the door handle. He had his foot on the pavement, when his siren spoke.

"You care too much, Antonio," Lovino replied. "I don't think people are fragile enough."

Antonio's eyebrows lowered. He was trying to see.

Lovino turned to him, and in his driest voice, added, "People might be better off if they would break once in a while."

The moon smiled on both of their faces, but it was of no help. For once in his life, Antonio couldn't see.

 

~/~

 

"Lovino?" Felicia called, and her soft footsteps echoed closer and closer to the door.

Lovino had just finished taking off his scarf and jacket, and was hanging them on the rack. "Sorry I'm late. I was dropping someone off."

"Oh, really? That's fine, I guess. I was worried about you though," she giggled and hugged Lovino fast. "So, did you have a good day then? I feel as though I haven't seen you in a long while."

Lovino smiled very briefly. "Yeah, it was a good day. I know you were busy with wedding things. I just toured the city on my own."

"Ve~ well it was just choosing flowers and such," she laughed, and her brown eyes flew to Lovino's once again. "Oh, do you need a date to the gala this weekend? I think Elizaveta might be free. I can ask her or—"

"No, that's fine," Lovino interrupted. "I, um…I found someone. So it's all fine." He strode fast in the direction of his room and kept walking.

Felicia gazed after him, eyes in wonder. "Really?" she asked, and she began to follow.

"Yes."

"That's great!" she exclaimed with a clap of her hands. "Who is it?"

Lovino held his doorknob for longer than necessary, then replied very easily, "Just a nobody." And he closed the door.

 

~/~

 

Days passed calmly and normally. Nothing was different, nothing had changed; yet why did Antonio feel this perpetual itch under his skin wherever he went and whomever he was with? And why was it a thousand times worse when he found himself all alone?

He felt mad. He felt scared. Antonio thought he might be returning to how he used to be. Even Eliza, when they were together at their usual café, noticed it. And she was never one to keep her mouth shut.

"Toni, what's up with you? You haven't stopped shaking your leg since we've sat down," she said low under her breath. Then she caught sight of his clenched hands and wrenched them apart. "What's going on?" she pressed.

Antonio's eyes flickered from the dozen different places to Elizaveta's face. He tried to keep steady, but it was in vain. "Nothing's wrong," he smiled.

Elizaveta raised a brow and leaned back in her seat. "Really? You're lying to  _me_  now?"

Antonio grimaced and turned away. He intertwined his fingers again and replied, "I don't know what's wrong exactly. I just feel very…uncomfortable."

"Really? I find that very surprising. I don't think I've ever seen you uncomfortable before."

"Yeah, well," he sighed. "I used to be quite a lot. I thought I was past it. Or—well, I thought it didn't matter anymore. But I," he paused for a moment, "I feel empty around other people. I don't quite feel alive like I used to. And…it's bothering me." Antonio's eyes slid to the side, and they gleamed dark and nervous.

Elizaveta thought for a moment. "Is something on your mind?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. But he bit his lip and added, "I just can't tell what it is."

And it rained. It rained so much, and it covered everywhere. It was the melancholy that followed Antonio everywhere he went. How could he escape the sky's teardrops and the streets' liquid mirrors?

 

~/~

 

When he arrived at Abel's late and tipsy Friday night, it was still raining. He walked in with wet clothes, light laughs, and the softest green eyes. Something about the weather was eroding him away, and it must have been obvious, because the way Abel touched him wasn't like anything before.

Antonio was fast at chucking his jacket to the floor and nimble at undoing his shirt, but Abel held his wrists, and kissed him dear. It was gentle. Abel's lips, though rough, and his hands, though strong, treated Antonio gently. But Antonio didn't want it. He didn't want the fragility, or the kindness—he didn't want Abel to finally figure out what he was truly made of.

A dozen minutes in, when they were both unclothed and Abel's hands touched Antonio's softest skin, lightning struck.

" _Lo siento_ ," he murmured, and tears began to fall. He smiled even as he trembled. " _Lo siento, lo siento, lo siento_."

The mantra continued, and Antonio's lips never fell, but he couldn't stop shaking. Abel sighed and held him. He didn't whisper sweet nothings or caress his skin, but he did hold him close and strong, and his steady heartbeat remained a comfort.

A dozen minutes after, things began to settle. The rhythm of the rain returned to a jazz, and Antonio's breath evened out.

"Do you want to smoke?" Abel asked.

Antonio chuckled. "No. Not really."

Abel rolled his eyes and shifted slightly in the bed. "I'm no good at talking you know."

"I don't want to talk," Antonio said.

"…Right."

"I don't."

Abel pursed his lips and turned his attention to the floor: he thought of how to organize the mess. "I don't think we should see each other anymore."

Antonio didn't tense and his smile didn't falter. He was still tranquil, as he replied, "I know."

"Do you?" Abel glanced down at him suspiciously.

"Elizaveta told me the same thing. I guess it's just time."

"Is that really it?"

"It must be. I can't think of anything else," Antonio answered, but his voice didn't sound too sure.

"That's a lie," Abel said dryly. He forced eye contact and continued, "I think it's you. You're the reason."

"How so?"

Abel shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. "How should I know? We're not friends," he quipped. "I'm just observant enough to notice that you've changed. You're not like before. You're… _stuck_."

Antonio's eyes focused just slightly. "Stuck?"

"That's what I said."

"But what does that even mean?"

"Not quite sure," he mumbled. "But it seems to fit."

Antonio bit his lip and looked away—doing so he caught a bright light flickering near the pile of clothes. His heart picked up when he realized it was his phone.

"Oh," he gasped, and quickly stumbled out of Abel's arms towards the edge of the bed. "That must be…" he whispered under his breath as he grasped the phone from the ground.

**Lovino: I leave tomorrow at 9AM. Wear something warm. It's raining there too.**

Antonio was so engaged, he didn't feel his lips split into a grin, or hear past the increasing beat of his heart. Because Lovino. It was  _Lovino_. And they were to be together again tomorrow.

"Toni?" Abel interrupted, his voice mildly curious. "What are you smiling at?"

Antonio locked his phone. "Nothing," he replied giddily. "I just have to go." At once, he was at work collecting the scattered remains from the floor. In fast time he had his pants, socks and shoes on and was fumbling with his shirt buttons.

"You look…happy," Abel pointed out, and his words were very cautious. He stared at Antonio with distrust.

"When am I ever not happy?" Antonio jeered, and his eyes twinkled. Once he managed to button halfway he grabbed his jacket from the edge of the bed. Abel caught his arm there.

"I don't like this," he warned, and his face was hard. "You shouldn't depend so much on other people. It's not good."

Antonio laughed and tried to slide out of Abel's grip. He couldn't. "What are you talking about? I just  _like_  people. There's a difference."

"I know there is. But you fall on the other side, Toni. You shouldn't… _need_  them so much. I don't understand why you do," he said, and let go of his arm.

Antonio rose up and put his jacket on. "Hm, and why do you care?"

Abel frowned. "I don't," he muttered. "But it's annoying as hell anyway."

"Well, we won't be seeing each other again, so you won't have to be bothered by that." Antonio flashed a smile, as he headed for the door.

Abel watched him, and suddenly the pieces fell together.

Antonio was closing the door when he heard Abel say:

"And don't rely on Lovino Vargas of all people."

The slam echoed in the empty hallway, and the words echoed in Antonio's head.

 

~/~

 

Nine in the morning exactly and a red Porsche pulled up near the curb. The weather was gray, bleak and chilly, and the car appeared like a blood drop on the snow.

Antonio was standing outside, dressed in a suit and coat. When the passenger window rolled down he saw Lovino's glaring brown eyes, and he couldn't control his heart from not skipping a beat. Gracefully, he opened the door and slipped onto the leather seat.

"Good morning," he announced cheerily. His eyes drank in everything about Lovino's face: what was familiar and what had changed. "How has your week been?"

"More of the same," Lovino answered easily. He shifted the car into drive, and they sped down the road.

"Ah, well, I suppose that's fine in its own way, no?" Antonio grinned, but he was met with a silent reply.

As they continued, typical highway noises interrupted the silence, but it wasn't enough for Antonio, so he bit his lip and talked.

"So, I've been having some very odd dreams lately. It's like each night I'm in a place I've never been before, with someone I can never seem to remember. The first night it was Istanbul, then Lisbon, then Rome, and yesterday it was Chicago. I can't remember last night's dream, but I'll let you know when I do," Antonio laughed and he drummed his fingers along the car door.

"Please do," Lovino muttered sarcastically. His eyes were light as they flickered from Antonio's face to the road. He was so calm and quiet, it put Antonio on edge. Why did he never start up a conversation?

"Oh, I also wanted to tell you about a restaurant I went to! It's near the gallery actually, and it's quite nice. A Thai place—I can't remember the name, but I'm sure Gilbert would remember."

"Probably."

"Did you know I found a leak in my living room? That's the fourth one I've found in two months. I feel like I need to get a carpenter or something to look at my house."

"Perhaps you should."

"Uuh," Antonio drawled, as his mind frantically searches for something, anything to say. "So it's been kind of lonely living at my apartment by myself. I've been thinking of adopting a pet; maybe a cat? I don't think I have enough time for a dog. But I also hear Chinchillas are fun pets. Do you have any opini—"

"Are you nervous or something?" Lovino interrupted, and his voice was caught somewhere in between amusement and annoyance.

Antonio chuckled. "Of course not! Why do you ask?"

"Because you're babbling like an idiot. You're not even talking about anything important."

"Oh, yeah. I guess not. I was just trying to keep a conversation going. You're so reserved."

Lovino eyed him carefully, then returned his attention back to the road. "I talk when I have something to say," he said. "I don't understand the need to ruin a perfectly good silence with just—anything that comes to mind. Feli does that too."

"I guess you're used to it then," Antonio said with a smile. "In my experience youngest siblings and only children tend to be the babbling types. Maybe we can't handle the silence."

"Actually, I think your type is just too dependent on people," Lovino retorted. "Feli's always been like that." He rolled his eyes and checked his mirrors again. After too many quiet seconds had gone by, Lovino was suspicious and looked over to the passenger side. "What is it"

Antonio was grinning at the glass of his window, and his eyes were glittering in something akin to wonder. "Nothing. It's just…that's the second time I've heard that this week."

Lovino raised a brow and faced forward. "It must be true then."

"I guess so."

 

~/~

 

The gala appeared to be an extraordinarily stately affair, nothing at all like the image Antonio conjured up during the ride over. Considering the way Lovino was, and what Lovino does and what he doesn't do, Antonio was expecting something more like the before of a classic James Bond murder. Something dark and glamorous with a lingering sense of illegal. But the reality couldn't be further from the imagination.

It was some sort of charity fundraiser; Lovino was a sponsor, and apparently was required to come as part of his position. The gala – truly more like a tea party – was hosted inside of a five-star hotel. There was going to be an auction of artwork later.

"Well, this is…nice," Antonio said as he looked around.

"Don't lie. I know it's boring. Why else would I have asked you to come?" Lovino replied, and he flagged down a waiter to signal for a drink.

"So I'm here to entertain you?" Antonio jeered with sparkling eyes.

Lovino grasped his mimosa and smirked. "You're here to keep me from scratching my eyes out."

Antonio raised his brows. "Well said."

And the two of them toured around the room, meeting and greeting strangers and old friends. Antonio was ready to be the snake charmer, and woo every man and woman in the crowd, but he had forgotten about Lovino's switch. Fast as a whip, the moment Lovino turned on his heel, he was the radiant light Antonio had been drawn to their first encounter.

"Miss Webb, you look so lovely. How are your children doing?"

"Jonathon, I saw your last piece in the magazine. I was blown away."

"Julia, that's such a beautiful dress. You need to meet my sister Felicia, you two would get along so well."

Were those even Lovino's words? Where did he find the energy to act like that? What power inside him was capable of imitating the sun? Antonio thought he was so much more like the moon.

"I thought you didn't like talking unnecessarily," Antonio whispered into Lovino's ear.

"You can't always do what you like. That would be indulgent," he murmured. And he struck a conversation with the old art collector from Charleston.

"I'll get us something to eat," Antonio said, and he strolled away from the chatter to the quiet murmurs of the buffet table. There was something pricking at his heart, but he was trying to ignore it. He focused instead on adding  _hors d'oeuvres_  on a small plate, and navigating through the line. He was so lost in his thoughts he didn't hear his name called, and it took a heavy tap on his shoulder to capture his attention.

Looking over his shoulder, Antonio saw someone he never expected to encounter ever again.

"Hello Toni," the man said, and  _God, was his voice always that deep?_

Antonio gazed at him in a combination of wonder, awe, and fear, and really, the fear only existed because he realized he didn't have any. And that made him afraid.

"Sadik," the man prompted, "in case you couldn't remember. If I remember correctly, our encounter was fairly brief." His dark eyes sparkled as he gave Antonio a once over.

Instincts kicked in, and Antonio remembered to engage. "Oh, of course," he laughed and extended his free hand for a shake. "I'm sorry. I really didn't expect to see you here of all places. I thought you were in archit—"

"Architecture, yes. But I support this charity, and I thought I'd make an appearance," Sadik explained simply. "I'm more surprised to find you here. And on the arm of such a handsome little thing too. I'm quite curious who's escorting who here." He glanced in Lovino's direction and grinned.

Sadik's voice sent shivers down Antonio's spine, but the words struck a nerve. He found the strength to steel his eyes and say, "Don't talk about him like that."

"Oh?" Sadik mocked, and his tall figure loomed over Antonio. "And why not?

"He's too far above gossip," Antonio said, half-realizing how loyal the words sounded.

Sadik didn't appear to notice or mind, and chuckled, "Well, good thing we're not like that, right?" His dark eyes were close and forceful, and though he made no move to touch him, Antonio thought he was being groped already. "Would you like to come with me upstairs?"

Answer, answer, answer. But Antonio didn't know what to say? And why didn't he know? Why was this so hard for him? He didn't like Sadik…but…he still wanted to go. And why was that? Why—

"Excuse me, I don't think we've met," a smooth, oak voice interrupted. Antonio felt a gentle hand on his back, but it fled as soon as it landed. "I'm Lovino Vargas."

Sadik turned away from Antonio, to ogle Lovino standing to his left. He grinned automatically. "Sadik Adnan," he greeted, and shook hands. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I was just catching up with your friend here."

"I can see that," Lovino replied curtly, his eyes very sharp. "So how do you know Antonio? Business perhaps?"

"Ah, something like that. We had a short arrangement a while ago," Sadik answered easily, and his tone betrayed his delight. "Anyway, I still haven't said hello to some of the guests. It was nice to meet you, Lovino," he said, and his gaze slid over to Antonio. "And it was nice to see you again." Even his figure walking away emanated intimidation. Antonio pretended not to be impressed.

Suddenly, that gentle hand was on Antonio's arm, and changed to strong and tense. "What the hell was that?" Lovino demanded, his voice very low.

Antonio was caught off guard. He looked at him wide-eyed and said, "I don't know what you—"

"Bullshit. That's a lie. I could see your hands shaking from across the room," Lovino spat and his eyes flit all over Antonio's face. "Who the hell was that guy?"

The inappropriate response was to laugh, so of course that's what Antonio did. His gaze then fell to the plate of  _hors d'oeuvres_  he was collecting and he picked at them one by one. "He was, um, a client I had a while ago."

"A client?"

"Yes."

The wheels turned in Lovino's head. "But then why were you so afraid of...him…" his voice trailed off, and when Antonio met his gaze once again he saw that  _Yes, Lovino figured it out._

"Don't worry, I wasn't afraid. He was just saying hello. Nothing bad—" Antonio said hurriedly.

Lovino dropped his hand so that he could ball it by his side. "You're saying that he's the one that did  _that_  to you? All of those weeks ago?" he asked, and his voice was venomous. "And you fucking  _talked_  to him? Antonio, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Those pricking thorns got stuck near Antonio's heart again, but he tried to keep calm. "I didn't do anything wrong, I—"

"No, he's the one that did something wrong. You should be staying the hell away from him!"

"Lovino, you don't need to raise your voice," Antonio warned, and he looked around the room. A few people were watching them already. "Let's go outside for a moment."

Lovino opened his mouth to curse, but he saw the curious eyes as well, and instead turned on his heel with a huff. He led Antonio out the lobby door and onto the Boston sidewalk. It was a side street, so they walked a few paces down and it was fairly calm.

As Lovino swiped a cigarette from his pocket and made hard work at lighting it against the wind, Antonio said, "I don't understand why you're so angry. He walked up to me and talked, and what was I supposed to do? Not talk back?"

Annoyed with the wind, Lovino pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and turned to Antonio. His eyes were molten. "It's not that, you asshole."

Wow. Since when was Lovino's language so colorful? Was he really that angry? Antonio doesn't remember seeing him ever rise above room temperature.

Lovino stepped forward and poked Antonio's chest. "The fucking problem was that you forgave him. I saw it in your eyes."

"I did not—"

"I  _saw_  it!" Lovino yelled. He really was angry. "You're such a fucking idiot, Antonio. He… _raped_  you, and you weren't even upset. And he comes back, and your hands are shaking, you're as pale as a sheet, but I saw it in your eyes—you wanted to go back to him again. I mean, that's—that's…"

"Idiotic? I know," Antonio laughed, but it was rough and harsh.

Lovino flinched, but didn't back down. "Then why the hell do you do it?"

"Because I'm dependent on people!" Antonio shouted, and he was so very close. "You're not the only one who's said it. I know it's true. I need people. I feel…empty without them. I am empty." His eyes glittered and they caressed the angles of Lovino's face so tenderly. "I'm not like you. I'm not that strong." His arms wrapped around Lovino slowly, but Lovino's body never softened.

"Is that what you think I am?" he asked, and his chin tilted, so that their breaths mingled.

Antonio tore his gaze away from Lovino's lips and looked up at his eyes. Those eyes. What he wouldn't give to be able to understand them.

Then Lovino stood up on his toes and pulled Antonio down by the collar. His lips brushed against the stubble of Antonio's cheek as he whispered, "If you think I'm strong, then you really are weak, you bastard." He didn't let the moment linger, and as soon as it was said, Lovino pushed away and started walking in the direction of the parking garage.

"Are you leaving?" Antonio demanded, his blood still too hot.

Lovino didn't bother looking over his shoulder as he flipped him off. He left Antonio alone on the sidewalk, at the gala, and in Boston. On the line between hate and love, Antonio wasn't so sure where he stood anymore. The thorns were scraping at his fury, and all he wanted to do was scream.

But there was no one to scream at, so all he could do was walk away. And God, did that hurt even more.

 

~/~

 

Time was always constant. It never stopped. It goes on, forever and so on. Antonio thought about that often, but when he stared at his dark phone in the corner of the room, none of that seemed to hold true. Time was cruel.

 

~/~

 

Time did allow for plenty of silence. So much that Antonio didn't know what to do with it. Since when was he surrounded by more quiet than people? It was unnerving being alone with just himself. All of the attention, and focus, and energy he had directed outwards—to his clients, his friends, and his lovers—it redirected inwards. He was alone with his head.

 

~/~

 

But no. God no.  _Dios,_  no. Antonio wasn't one for self-reflection, so he faced one of the tall blocks of marble and chose that  _To break the silence, and to free himself from his head._

 

~/~

 

And that got Antonio wondering.

Lovino was always on his own, and always in silence. So how did he deal with it?

 

~/~

 

The next thoughts made adrenaline pulse through his veins.

All of that passion, all of that intelligence, all of that hate and anger, curiosity, fear, imagination and sadness…did it ever leave his head?

 

~/~

 

And then Antonio was frantic, terrified, and so goddamn enraged with himself. He really was the idiot. How did it take him so long to see? And he called himself an artist. He couldn't see past the pretty colors of Lovino's eyes to understand what lied underneath.

_Ring!_

His phone tore his train of thought in two, but he jumped to answer it anyway. His heartbeat was too fast.

"Hello?" he answered, a bit out of breath.

 _"H-hello?"_  It was Felicia's voice: soft and scared.

"Oh, Feli. Why are you calling?"

_"Um, sorry if I'm bothering you, Toni. It's been a long time since we talked. But I was wondering if you happened to hear from Lovi?"_

He never wanted to hear those words strung together.

"Why?" Antonio choked.

_"Well, I-I haven't seen or heard from him since yesterday afternoon, and it's already so late…"_

Antonio checked the clock on his wall: it was half past nine. "Honestly, Feli, I haven't talked to him since the gala in Boston."

 _"Oh, really?"_  Feli said. She sounded genuinely surprised.  _"I mean, I guess that makes sense. He's been off since then, but…Toni. I know that Lovi does these things all the time, but I'm really, really worried. What if—I can't imagine if something—"_

"Shh, it's okay, Feli. I know. I understand," Antonio murmured as calmly as he could. Swiftly, his brain worked, and he was running to grab his keys. "Listen, I have an idea. I'm going to go talk to someone who may know where he is. I'll keep you posted and let you know if I find out anything, all right?"

Feli whimpered, but replied a soft,  _"Okay."_

So he hung up the phone to call another number.

_Ring!_

_Ring!_

_Ring!_

_Rin—_

_"I thought we weren't seeing each other anym—"_

"Abel," Antonio said. "You need to tell me if you know anything."

The line went quiet for several moments, and then a sigh followed.  _"I tried to warn you about him. I sure hope you haven't actually fal—"_

"Abel, please!" Antonio snapped.

Another sigh.  _"Fine,"_  he conceded.  _"You might as well jump in a taxi. You're going to need to go far."_

Antonio was already flagging one down.

 _"And Toni,"_  Abel added.  _"You're going to want to hurry. It's not a good area."_

 

~/~

 

Why doesn't Lovino talk? Why was he always so reserved? Was it shyness? Arrogance? Reluctance to speak?

Not really.

Lovino was just locked inside of his own head, and his head was nowhere safe to be. Actually, it's the most dangerous place, because there are no limits. It's an infinity space where thoughts never die, never flee, and never leave him alone. There's only one track – a loop – and as Lovino stands too close to the edge of the road, his thoughts race by, two hundred miles an hour, and too violently loud in his ear. He can't escape it. How can he? Where's the emergency exit from one's own head? Perhaps if such a thing was included in the human design, Lovino wouldn't be in the same situation, over and over again. He wouldn't be in a motel, half naked, drunk, and surrounded by strangers.

"Lovino? Do you have some?" One of them asked. There's nothing descriptive about him.

The alcohol dulled Lovino enough so that he didn't care too much about the demanding tone. He just nodded and reached in his pant pocket. "Line it up," he ordered, and tossed the bag over.

The others didn't reply and got to work. Lovino sipped at his bottle of gin and ran his thumb over the bottle of pills in his other pocket. He licked his lips in anticipation.

"Ready," someone said. The other was already snorting a line.

Now functioning on habit, Lovino groggily sat up and leaned over the coffee table. He watched the others continue snorting cocaine, and his eyes felt glazed and faraway. He felt the eleven o'clock epiphany that this was his routine. This was his life. In a few minutes Lovino would get high, drink more, and have sex. Then he'd fall asleep from exhaustion, and in a few hours wake up in a start and taxi back home.

…

He wanted to find the emergency exit.

So he grabbed his gin and his shirt, and stumbled to his feet. Somehow he maneuvered himself out of the small party, and made it to the bathroom. He locked the door after himself, and fell to his knees near the tub.

One elbow leaned against the marble curve and tilted the gin back into Lovino's throat, and the other fetched the bottle of pills within his other pocket. Lovino set the gin down on the tile and uncapped the bottle. He dropped a handful into his palm, threw them back, and washed it down with gin.

"Lovino? Are you coming out of there?" a man slurred, and he pounded on the door.

"No," Lovino replied, and he washed down another handful. The gin tasted so sweet.

Something like a groan echoed, followed by some shuffling, and maybe the TV.

Lovino never minded. He was caught up in what he was doing. The power of the act sent a thrill through his veins. He couldn't stop. Pills. Gin. Pills. Gin. Would this work? Would this be the way out? Has he finally done enough? There were so many pills left, and it's terrifying to be able to see the end right in front of you.

Lovino poured another handful, he didn't know what number it was, and shakily pushed them onto his tongue. The last of his gin washed it down, and he grimaced when it was over.

"What am I doing?" he slurred, and dropped the empty bottle of gin on the tile. It rolled and rattled under the sink. He wished he had a cigarette. Wouldn't that be perfect right now?

He tried to ignore the ache in his lungs by listening to the murmurs of the TV, and watching a small spider crawl along the bathroom floor. He felt sorrow for his senses. To see be surrounded by the filth of the earth in the end—was it fitting or cruel? Doesn't matter. Lovino would take it anyway. He was in no position to decline. He couldn't put up a fight.

He was just done. He wanted to fade away.

At the thought, Lovino's hand searched blindly for the bottle of pills. Perhaps he could dry swallow the rest of them. But he was so clumsy, his coordination was so drunk, he ended up spilling it instead.

Another pound on the door. "Hey, Lovino. Someone in the hallway is looking for you. Should we let him in?"

Someone… _looking for him?_  Who could it be? Who would know? "I—I," he stuttered, but his voice was too lazy. "I don't know."

Some whispers were exchanged outside, and then another one said, "Okay, we're just going to let him in, okay? He seems kind of antsy."

"Whatever," Lovino muttered, but he wasn't sure if he actually said it. He heard more commotion, but the task of picking up one pill was at the forefront of his mind, he couldn't be bothered to make out the words.

Then the banging returned, and this time it was loud, and desperate. The doorknob jiggled uselessly. "Lovino! It's me, Antonio! You need to open up, okay?"

Lovino had just managed to pick up a pill, but the sound of that voice— _his voice_ —startled him. He dropped it and stared at the door. "Antonio?" he repeated quietly.

"Lovino! Please, open up! Feli's worried! And I'm terrified! I just need to know you're okay!"

"M' fine," Lovino replied, and he tried rolling to his knees. The image of Feli worried compelled a part of him to stand up and unlock the door: he had to prove that he was okay, at least for a moment longer. But standing was so hard. His knees were too weak, so he decided to crawl, bit by bit to the door, and with shaking, clammy fingers, he unlocked the door.

It didn't even take a second for it to be yanked open, and for Lovino to fall forward to the ground. His head hit the floor, and his body caved after him.

"Lovino,  _dios_ , no," Antonio cried, and he collected Lovino's body in his lap. "Are you okay?  _Mi corazon, lo siento._   _Lo siento._  Are you okay?" His fingers threaded through Lovino's hair looking for injury, but there was no blood.

"M'fine," Lovino mumbled weakly. He couldn't even open his eyes. "But do you have a…a cigarette?" he asked, his voice growing softer and softer.

"What?" Antonio looked at him incredulously, afraid to be relieved just yet. And at that moment, his eyes found the bathroom floor. The gin bottle, the pills. He'd already seen the other liquor bottles strewn about the motel room, and all of the cocaine.  _What was Lovino doing to himself?_

"Lovino," Antonio started again, and he was pinching Lovino's face, trying to keep him awake. "You need to tell me how many pills you swallowed. How many? Do you remember?"

"Mm," Lovino smiled. He felt so tired and faraway. "Not many, not many."

"Do you know a number?"

Lovino's eyes fluttered open just slightly, and he tried to reach out for Antonio's face. Antonio met him halfway and held his hand there. "I've swallowed more and survived. Don't worry so much. Don't worry…"

Antonio was closer. "What are you talking about? You've done this…" his voice stopped. And then he was crying. "Oh, Lovino."

"It'll be fine," Lovino whispered, and his eyes closed again. He dozed off in Antonio's arms with two questions in his head:

1\. Was this the end of the pattern?

2\. Would he ever get his cigarette?

 

~/~

 

When sleeping feels like drowning, it's not sleeping at all. Lovino oscillated all night. When he woke up, he woke up with a start: his heart racing, his breath gone, and his eyes wide open but utterly useless. He then felt a hand on his cheek and panicked, and tried to wrestle away, all to no avail. Whispers and murmurs tried to soothe him, but anything soft was confusing, and Lovino curled into himself, begging to fall back under. He wanted sleep to pull him back, but it only teased him, and he'd go through the ordeal all over again.

Eventually, after time ceased to matter, Lovino was released, and gently, he floated back to the surface. His eyes fluttered open to a dim room of familiar surroundings. Those paintings, that shelf, those covers—it was his room. But through the haze, Lovino's eyes slowly reached a figure that didn't belong. A man bent over the leather desk-chair, rumpled from hair to shirt to pants. His eyes weren't open, but his lips were tender with each sleepy breath.

Antonio. Antonio Carriedo. The artist. Lovino's artist. What was he doing here? What? Was there a reason?

Lovino's mind was groggy and stumbling to catch up to reality. Details were never his forte. But from the pound of his head, the upset of his stomach, and the aches all over his body…he had a few guesses as to what happened. And none of them were very good.

Lovino thought about lying in wait, he thought about catching Antonio's attention; he thought of a thousand ideas. But louder than any single one of them was that same instinctive, powerful voice that yelled  _Go_.

And despite all of his fronts, Lovino was always one to do what he was told.

 

~/~

 

_That feminine laugh, as sweet as raspberries and just as fresh. She said once, as she was laughing, "Antonio. Darling Antonio. You know how much I love you."_

_Drunk with too much wine, he smiled giddily at her._

_"Oh, Antonio," she murmured, and her fingers slipped into his hair, loosening his curls. "Why do you do this to me? Hm? Why do you do this to yourself?"_

_He didn't have a reply, and instead chuckled and nuzzled the sheets._

_"You don't need to come back to me anymore. You don't need to go back to anyone. Haven't you found someone important?"_

_And as her blue eyes grew dimmer, her voice faded._

_"Toni," she whispered. "You're addicted, aren't you?"_

…

Bells filled the air, but not the pleasant sort. Electronic, shrill bells filled the room and stunned Antonio's body. He woke up in a start, frantically searching for the noise. After three empty coat pockets, he found the phone, but the call had already ended. Antonio stared blankly at the screen.

Three missed calls from Feli.

For a moment, Antonio was mildly impressed he was able to sleep through two of those, but then his memories caught up with him and his eyes immediately darted to the bed. The sheets were rumpled. It was slept in. But it was empty. Lovino was gone.

Time evaporated into the atmosphere. Fast or slow didn't exist. Was there even sound? Or did that disappear too? Antonio felt as though he floated through the apartment when he was sure he sprinted. As he fled out the door and headed for the gallery he vaguely recalled jamming his finger sometime, somewhere. Pain doesn't exist either it would seem. But fear certainly does.

The void didn't last too long, however. As Antonio breached the gallery, time and sound returned in the form of heartbeats: fast and strong, measuring each step and each turn of Antonio's head.

Ten. Twelve. Fifteen. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. Stop.

The huddled figure in the corner of the gallery, by the window of a dawning sun: it was him. Fast steps closed the distance and Antonio stood a few feet away to see in relief that yes, it was Lovino. He was here. His eyes were open. He was still breathing.

"Jesus, Lovino," Antonio coughed, and bent over his knees to catch his breath. "You sh-shouldn't have left. You should've told me."

Echoes of Antonio's panting continued to wound the silence.

Then came Lovino's soft voice. "You were asleep."

Antonio rose up once again, and looked at him. Really looked at him.

Lovino was propped against the white wall, one leg folded and one leg down, his face turned towards the window, and all cloaked in shadows save for the few rays of sunlight that caught on the tearstains of his cheeks. Had he really cried though? The marks were there, but Lovino's face was so hard. So impenetrable. What sort of walls would Antonio have to scale to reach into his soul: to understand. They were so opposite…was it always this apparent?

Perhaps Antonio was always so intrigued by Lovino for that reason.

Antonio was the man with no defenses at all. He was an apple tree in an open pasture. Anyone could see him, greet him, or take him.

Lovino was the child who locked himself in the smallest room of the highest tower of the tallest castle. And he had dozens of guards.

But what was it all for? Secrets? Fear?

"Lovino," Antonio said, and he knelt right beside him. He caught the darkness haunting Lovino's eyes. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" Lovino repeated dreamily. His lips turned up in a dry smile and he turned his gaze to the floor.

Antonio scratched his leg. "Is it—are you… _depressed?"_  he asked a bit awkwardly. Then added, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Lovino appeared to be still pondering the first question. "I don't know," he finally replied. "I don't know what I am. But somehow, depressed doesn't seem to fit. It's—I don't know."

Antonio nodded slowly. "Well, how would you explain it? Not the scientific, or doctor's way. Just your way."

Lovino took a few steady blinks. "My way?"

"Yeah," Antonio encouraged. "Would you prefer if I went first?"

Lovino gave a curt nod and brought both knees to his chest. "Go," he ordered.

Antonio smiled and combed his curls. "Well, where to begin," he joked. "I guess, for me, everything begins with fear. I've always been so, so afraid. I've always been afraid to be what you want to be. Alone." He gazed at Lovino kindly. "I think I've always had an itch under my skin. I always feel…uncomfortable by myself. Empty maybe. And for that reason, I need people. I crave them. I love them. Each one has something I want, something I admire, something I adore. I tend to see good even in those that don't have any," Antonio laughed. "It's not a great thing, but I can't help it. I think I'm just addicted to humanity."

"I know that," Lovino scoffed. "It's obvious."

"I suppose it is," Antonio agreed. "But it's good to say it out loud sometimes." He stopped to see if Lovino caught the hint. No good. "But you know," Antonio continued, "you're an addict too. In your own way."

Lovino attempted to glare, but mild curiosity betrayed him.

"Car crashes, reckless spending, promiscuity, drugs…you want life to touch you, you want it to hurt you. I think you're craving feelings. You want to understand."

Lovino's fingers drew into his palm. "No," he said. "I don't care as much as you do. I don't think I like life like that. I…I just have this stillness in my heart. It's some sort of boredom—or apathy—and it's  _suffocating_." Lovino's voice caught and he paused. Then, after licking his lips, he finished, "I feel as though I'm locked inside my head with no way out. And the view outside just gets foggier and foggier."

Antonio's eyes glistened and he reached for Lovino's hand. He held it tight. "Lovi," he murmured, and let his free hand travel to Lovino's cheek. "Is that why you're so reckless? Are you trying to hurt yourself?" He didn't dare say what he meant.

"I don't know. I don't know if I'm trying to," he replied, and shied away from the touch. "But my life doesn't mean much to me anyway. I've already come to terms with that."

"Lovino—"

"I think," he interrupted, "I'm going to kill myself one day. I don't know how, or when…but someday, something I do will work. And it'll be over." Lovino gazed at the statue, and the marble boy gazed back at him.

Antonio studied his face, and didn't let go of his hand. "Do you really want that?"

"I think that's what'll happen."

"But do you want that?"

Lovino sighed and turned towards the floor again. "I don't know. There's no reason for me to want it, but I don't feel as though there's a reason for me not to want it either. It just seems…inevitable."

"Don't you know how devastated people would be?" Antonio demanded, his voice lower than usual, and his eyes much keener.

Lovino pressed his lips together, slightly perplexed. "Feli would be sad. And  _nonno_. And a few friends here and there. But they'll get over it. I know it." His voice was steady.

Antonio didn't let up. "What about your life? The things you haven't done? The things you looked forward to?"

The sun was lighting Lovino's face, and the tearstains were no longer there. "I just don't care," he replied. "I was born into money, I was raised with money, and I use money to fund my passion and my job. But my money can do without me. Feli is just as good, maybe better. I could leave a will, or a foundation," he explained plainly. "There's nothing about me that is necessary."

Antonio let out a short laugh. "That's not true," he said.

Lovino turned to him fast. "It's not?" he countered, and sparkles of white-gold danced in his eyes. "I don't have any talents. I don't care for the sciences, or math. And, though I loved it, I was never skilled at art. My writing is poor, and I'm too lazy to put in the effort of learning other skills." He stopped to catch his breath, then finished, "The only thing I can do is spend money. That's  _all_  I'm good at."

Antonio's smile never wavered, and he held tight of Lovino's hand. "You're wrong."

"What do you know?" Lovino snapped, though his voice was too weak to be forceful.

Antonio stared at him and his eyes were as dark and clear as emeralds. Like their first encounter, they traveled every inch of Lovino's skin, hoping to find the answer, the key, or the code, or the method. He might've just found it.

"Lovino," Antonio began, and caressed Lovino's face once again. "You are so, so wrong. And it's kind of ironic how wrong you are. You…are able to see others so clearly—you are able to grasp things so immediately—and yet you are still blind to yourself.

"Not everyone can see art," he explained. "Most people can look at art, sure, but only one out of a hundred knows what they're looking at. And it's even rarer to find someone who cares." Antonio could feel a small flicker of heat under his hand and he smiled. "You understand art, and you understand artists too. You have taste, you have opinions. And you appear to think that that's common and replaceable, but it's not. Art is so delicate. It's so easily forgotten, mistreated, or overlooked. It's so easy for a great artist to be left behind. Most of the time, it's by some stroke of luck that an artist even makes it to the textbook."

Lovino's eyes shined, so he closed them.

"You're someone who protects artists. You keep them going," Antonio said, and his voice sounded so certain. "I think it's beautiful, Lovino. Everything that you do is so beautiful. The way you pick out a suit, the way you fawn over Felicia, the way you scold Ludwig. Even the small things: like your habit of licking your lips, or your concentrated stride, or—or your blush," he exclaimed and rubbed his thumb over Lovino's cheek affectionately.

"Shut up," Lovino ordered belatedly. His eyes altered from the floor to anywhere else.

Antonio chuckled, and directed Lovino's eyes to him again. "I told you once that people and art are the most interesting things in the world to me. And I still believe that they're deeply intertwined. And I think I've never met anyone more so than you."

Lovino glared at him. "Don't romanticize me. I am not art. I'm anything but. I'm—"

"I'm not romanticizing you," Antonio said quickly. "I'm not romanticizing your pain, or your darkness. There's nothing beautiful in your misery, Lovino. I know that. And I wish so much I could take it away." Antonio leaned closer and their noses brushed for a moment. "But you _aren't_  your pain. And what you are—you're everything," he breathed, and it sounded like relief. "God, that's just it. That's why. That's why I can't read you, or understand you. It's why I can love you so much, and find the heart to hate you too. I feel so much when I'm around you, more than ever before. And when I leave, I don't know what that makes me. I—I don't know what I am without you. I'm  _nothing._  I've never been anything. I create to fill the void I've always had, but you…" his voice trailed off and he pressed his lips to Lovino's cheek. "You. Are.  _Everything_."

Lovino's eyes widened and he was greeted with all of the sun's strength. He felt Antonio's strong arms around him, and was pulled into an embrace. He couldn't stop crying.

"Damn it," he mumbled, as tears slipped past his lips. "I-I don't want to cry, I—"

"I know," Antonio murmured. "But I understand. And love it anyway."

"N-no, that's not," Lovino grabbed at Antonio's shoulder and tried to catch a breath. "Y-you… _you_  are everything. Y-you are. I've a-always known it. Y-you're life."

Antonio laughed and rubbed at Lovino's back. "And if we're both everything, what does that make the rest of the world?"

Lovino sighed under his breath and stifled another hiccupping cry. He pulled away to stare at Antonio with watery, unsteady eyes.

"Well?" Antonio prompted.

More tears spilled over Lovino's eyes, and he hid himself away in the crook of Antonio's neck. "Horrible," he whispered, and his voice was broken. "The world is horrible." His fingers clawed and gripped tighter. "It's just so goddamn horrible Antonio, I can't take it."

Antonio listened carefully, and was quiet afterwards to collect his response.

The dawn winked at them. The sun always chose the worst moments.

"The world isn't kind. Least of all to those who really need it," Antonio murmured. "But I don't think the world is as horrible as you think. If a place can produce art, there must be something good, right?"

Lovino conceded a sigh, and his hands eased. "How am I going to make it?" he mused.

"The only way any of us make it: with help."

"Yeah."

"I want to help you, Lovino. I want to help you so much."

"I know."

"And I will be there for you. You won't be able to push me or Feli away, although you may try."

"I know."

"But," Antonio said, and he pushed Lovino forward so their eyes met. "You will be alone, Lovino. Because in the end, we're all alone. So, you may find yourself walking home after getting dinner with me, and suddenly, your head sinks to your lowest thoughts. You may be waiting at the subway, and the gust of the wind in the tunnel rustles your hair as you stare at the train tracks."

Lovino's eyes narrowed and he wondered if Antonio knew, or was just guessing.

Antonio squeezed his shoulders and continued, "And I can't stop you from thinking those things. I can't broach your mind. As if anyone could." He smiled slightly, and ran his thumb over Lovino's cheek. "All I want you to do, when you're in that place is think about changes. About how the rain always stops. The clouds always flee. The night always comes. And the stars are always there.

"And if you're stuck in the darkness, remember that the sun always returns. Winter has a beginning and an end. And spring always follows," Antonio explained, his voice gentle. "The bad days will make the good ones shine brighter, you know. Just remember that until I find you again."

Lovino looked at him, his eyes no longer watery, shaky, and afraid. He felt melancholy, down to the bone, and this time he accepted it.

"Can you promise me that?" Antonio asked, and his hands held Lovino tight and desperate.

The memory of hope compelled Lovino to say the word, "Yes." And he meant it.

Antonio's eyes glittered and he leaned close to pepper Lovino's face with kisses, and embrace him closer and more dearly than before. They were together, and they loved each other; Lovino could feel it, and he could admit it.

But as he kept inhaling and learning Antonio's paint and floral scent, he wondered:

_Will I ever learn to breathe in the atmosphere? Or is the air simply too heavy for me?_

Antonio whispered something in his ear and kissed the corner of his lips.

Lovino closed his eyes and replied, "I love you too."

...

And the day went on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *laughs* Well, I'm back? I...I...I am not going to explain here. I don't think anyone would want that. But, I extend my sincerest apologies. I'm so, so, sorry.
> 
> If anyone waited patiently for the completion of this story, you deserve gold stars and hugs. I've been too bothersome.
> 
> I hope the end result wasn't a disappointment. I followed the original idea to the end.
> 
> Thank you all for reading. And to those who encouraged me this semester, I wouldn't have come back to this story if it weren't for you guys. Thank you. I'd love to hear final thoughts on the story, so please leave feedback if you can.
> 
> Thanks again :) You're all lovelies.
> 
> (Update 08/29/16: I'm alive! Been inactive for a long time and am trying to get back into fandoms and writing and such. If you want to hang, I'm on tumblr now~ http://spinyfruit.tumblr.com)


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